A Night the Stars didn't Shine
by Dan Breaddy
Summary: Two very different people, 2 very different lives, 2 very similar talents. Brief glances into the trouble of Draco and Ginny at Hogwarts and their life afterwards. What started it, what happened, and how it ended. *originally Above The Crowd* Please R/R
1. Above the Crowd

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Disclaimer: I own nothing that you see here.

Author's Note: I just want to give credit. I read a Draco/Hermione @ Schnoogle, and I thought that it would make a great Draco/Ginny, so the story's called 'Sketches' if you wanna read it, but that's where I got this idea.

Her brow was furrowed in deep concentration over a Potions essay when he looked back up from his page. The view of the young sixteen-year-old was that of a vision of undefiled beauty, like a heavenly manifestation of an angel.

He had been sketching her for more than an hour now, and was no where near finishing it. A pair of eyes, a nose, and now two eyebrows were in the middle of a once blank page in a book filled with the finest quality sketch paper that money could buy. He studied Ginny again, and, when he was satisfied with what he saw on the sheet, he began sketch her lips.

He had started sketching Ginny awhile ago, maybe a month - maybe two, when he realized that she came to the library on a regular basis. He came too, to sketch this vision of human perfection. Her features were soft and delicate, her amber eyes were warm and caring, her hair was lush and bright. It was humanistic and godliness in a beautiful combination, and it was all Draco's to admire and to illustrate.

*****

He had begun sketching almost two years ago, over the summer vacation. Whenever he felt insecure, or unsure, or especially lonely, he took to his sketchbook. At first, he drew simple, non-moving things, like a desk or a schoolbook of his. As he progressed into his withdrawal and obsession even more, he drew harder things, like the scenic countryside outside his window for its light and shadows, or his robes for texture, or animals to test his speed and accuracy.

*****

She subconsciously pushed some straight shoulder length red hair behind her ear and glanced up at _him_. She looked at him for a moment, studying him quizzically, then brushed him off and went back to her essay. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and picked up his pencil again.

He shaded in her lips. They were pursed in frustration in his picture, with ripples and lines where hers had creased. Draco momentarily wondered what it would be like to _feel_ those lips, to kiss them, but he quickly shook off that ridiculous idea. He was a Malfoy, and, as beautiful and as tempting as she may be, she was a Weasley. Some things never changed.

Unfortunately, this was one of those that never would.

So he left his thoughts of kissing her behind and began to draw her face. He started with a light and rough sketch of a heart, because Ginny's was heart shaped. Then he added her cheeks and smoothed out the chin and forehead. Draco erased some at the top on account of it made her look like it was made of corn. Then he started on her freckles. The cinnamon kisses on her cheeks and nose added an innocent aura around her, a sort of childish dependency.

He finished the face and drew her neck, long and slender and freckled, then her shoulders, and then her undone robe and sweater. When that was sufficient, he drew her hair, strand by strand, making sure that he drew where the light caught it and where it folded over her shoulder and onto her back. About twenty minutes later, he looked over his finished drawing with a critical eye, looking at the 'vibes' that it conveyed, the mood that it set. He arched the right eyebrow a little more, to give her a helpless, frustrated look about her.

Finally, he was completely and totally satisfied with his drawing. He'd come back again tomorrow to draw, and maybe this time, color a little, if he could find the time. And he would; Ginny Weasley was something that should not remain white and graphite pencil. Especially with that hair.

He sighed as he packed his belongings that he had scattered in search of the leather-bound book when he had first arrived, almost two hours ago. It was pathetic that he had this silly, juvenile obsession with this _girl_, that he would lay waste hours upon hours just _sketching_ her. He laughed weakly at the irony of it; the Malfoy fawning over the Weasley. If it had not been him, he might even find this situation extremely amusing.

But, no, it was he that was obsessed and this was how it would stay. Him drawing her as she sat in the library until he was married off to Pansy, then he would never see her again after that. 'The sad reality of our destinies', he thought wistfully as he picked up his bag and swung it over his shoulder. Draco grabbed his sketchbook that lay on the table and held it tightly in his hand.

Pushing his chair in like a gentleman with his other one, he walked to the door, which happened to be in the direction of Ginny's table. She was packing up her books, quills, parchment, and her almost empty inkwell. As he passed her, she unexpectedly spun around and began to walk. Right into Draco. They both stepped back a little ways, and Draco found himself bumping right into a wooden bookshelf. Momentum threw his arm back and his elbow made contact with the wood. In pain, his hand flew open and the _book_ flew from his grasp. It landed at Ginny's feet.

Draco glared at her from his steely gray eyes and said as roughly as he could muster at loss of his _book_, "Well, Weasley, aren't you going to pick up my things for me?" She flinched at the name 'Weasley', but recovered quickly. Dropping her stuff onto the ground, she bent down to pick up the only thing that had fallen: a leather-bound book filled with textured white paper. Draco's sketchbook lay at Ginny's feet.

The book, at the possible worst time ever, opened in her hand as she carefully held it by spine. She had seen this brand of books and Art Supplies and More in Diagon Alley when she had gone to buy acrylics and canvases, and it ran for more than most of their new textbooks did. It surprised Ginny slightly that it had never struck her as Draco being the artsy type of person, but of course, Draco had to be good at everything.

The page that the book parted to was the drawing that Draco had just done. The crease that he had created to hold the pages down now revealed his most embarrassing obsession and secret.

Ginny groped around for words as she studied her detailed drawing. Draco, however, turned around and began to repeatedly hit his head on the bookcase, making loud thumping sounds.

"Mal – Malfoy, is this me?" The words were barely audible, but he somehow heard them between the thumps and the groans. She turned the page back to see a sketch of her scribbling down something. Ginny ran a finger of the image at the bottom; the graphic smeared. She looked at her finger and wiped it on the side of her black robe. He turned around, his forehead red from the bookcase, and looked her in the eye. He was taller than her by 3 inches, at the least. He held out his hand, flat and open. "Give that back," he said menacingly, trying to keep the fear out of his shaky voice.

She ignored his order, but stared intensely at the sketch. "This _is_ me, isn't it, Malfoy?" she asked. "Why are you sketching me?"

"Give. Me. The. Damn. Book," he ordered through clenched teeth. She looked up at him through slitted eyes. "Here, take it, you stalker!" she said forcefully, throwing the book at his chest. It hit him and bounced off into his arm, where he gripped it tightly.

She shoved him to the side as she and her bag ran out of the library. Ginny didn't even slow down when Madam Pince told her to slow down, and she slammed the library door shut.

Malfoy leaned on the bookcase, eyes closed and shoulders slumped in defeat. He momentarily mused over his predicament, and the Ginny problem that he had created. Then, when musing became boring, he grabbed his bag that lay on the ground and walked out of the library.

He thought of going back to his dormitory and rot there, but he was too hungry to even give it a second thought. He would eat a big dinner and _then_ go back and rot in his dormitory.

Seating himself at the edge of the Slytherin table, he lay his book and bag on the floor under his seat and began to pile his plate. He automatically looked at the Gryffindor table, across the hall, to get a peek at Ginny. He was greeted by her staring hatefully at him. She, too, had sat alone at the edge of the table, away from her brother and Harry, and away from the throng of Gryffindors of various years. She simply glared at him, eyes not moving. He could not help but stare back at her, into her chocolate eyes. 'Yes,' he thought, 'If I ever sketch her again, I will most definitely bring color'.

He felt something inside him gather up, then fade away. It was hope for a future together, he knew. Much as he'd like to know this mystery better, he couldn't let himself. Their destiny had already been set; there was no going back.

In the end, he was the broke the eye contact. He broke away to calmly take a bite of mashed potatoes.

Draco thought profoundly about Ginny. She was something else; higher than the crowd. She stood alone and unmoving, dependable and everlasting. She was higher than the chattering pupils, she was in the heavens and she was in the sky.

She stood alone, and she stood above the crowd.


	2. Angel Watching Over Me

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Disclaimer: Um… yeah… don't own anything cept the plot here, peoplez.

Summary: …She was alone and independent, with no one telling her what to do or how to do it. She was free to be herself, whoever that may be… Ginny loved to paint, especially things that she had not seen, things that she could only imagine, particularly angels… Had Ginny noticed the lone tear on her painting, she would've assumed that the man had been crying. And he was crying. Her silver-haired guardian angel, on the other side of the castle, wept mortal's tears for her.

Author's note: yes, this story originally was 'angel Watching Over Me', but I decided that I wanted to make a chaptered story out of it. So here it is! And look for more chapters to come!

Angel Watching Over Me

Ginny loved to paint. She dreamed of becoming a traveling artist, if such an occupation existed. She wished to become one and then travel the muggle and magical worlds, painting the scenes of beauty that she had only heard of.

She especially liked to paint things that she had not seen, things that she could only imagine, particularly angels. 'That way,' she thought ruefully, 'no one can tell me what I'm doing wrong.'

Angels, Cherubs, Seraphs, and fallen, decorated the antique cream colored wall of her bedroom. They were painted on her dresser, fighting and flying, and painted stain glass style on her window. She had embroidered several on her bedspread and clothing. Ginny, even though she was a pureblood witch, had always believed that there was always one watching over her, mortal or otherwise.

*****

It was winter vacation of her sixth year already. The first part of the year had gone by so quickly, and Ginny was almost relieved at the break that she had. She had decided to stay at Hogwarts over the break then visit her parents at home. They were traveling to Egypt, again, and she didn't feel like going a third time. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all decided to go to Egypt with her parents, so Ginny was left alone at Hogwarts. That's how she liked it. She was alone and independent, with no one telling her what to do or how to do it. She was free to be herself, whoever that may be.

*****

She pulled the burgundy curtains of her dorm room back and looked outside. The entire ground was white with a thick blanket of snow. The trees in the Forbidden Forest had long since lost their leaves, and the bare branches had snow on top of the naked branches. Snow could be seen on the seats in the Quidditch stadium, and the frozen lake was covered in the icy material. Ginny loved snow; winter was her favorite season.

After a short breakfast of honey ham and scrambled eggs, she went back up to her dormitory and began to pack a bag. She piled some canvas, a portable easel, paints, and several brushes. She walked out into the common room and into the deserted and silent hallways. The students were all on their break, enjoying their families. She zipped up her father's old jacket and pulled up her patched cloak tighter around her, flipping up the gnarled hood.

The cold wind burned her pale freckled cheeks. It turned her ears bright red. She fumbled clumsily with her brand new dragon hide gloves as she tried to pull them over her fingers before they numbed. Well… the gloves were a year old, a Christmas present from Charlie, which was almost as good as new to her.

She stopped walking and set down her bag of art supplies. She took out her wand and transfigured herself a wooden chair, and began to set up the easel that her grandmother had given her, and assembled the paints on a board. Sitting down in the chair, she closed her eyes and waited for inspiration to come to her.

The wind howled nosily around her, shaking the paints and scattering the brushes. Ginny ignored them. Her dream, she decided, she would paint an image from her dream. Lately, she had been having dreams where she had been walking down a church aisle in a beautiful white wedding dress, down to a vaguely familiar man at the pulpit. In the dream, Ginny was always smiling brightly and she could always feel her heart beat wildly in her chest, but hard as she tried, she could never get a good look at the man she was marrying.

So she took to her paints, colors slashing across the canvas. She painted only what she could remember and what she remembered was vague, the image, fading fast. She painted the man looking at a side angle, staring at some unseen object. She painted his eyes royal blue, but then added some gray for a more steely, mature look. His blonde hair flopped loosely in his face, then she added a white to show the reflecting light. A mis-stroke resulted in almost half of the head becoming a white/blonde, but more white this time than blonde. She ran out of yellow and just left the hair as it was. It didn't look all that bad, she decided. It sure didn't have the same effect that the sand blonde had, but in an odd way, it looked better. It made him look mature and a face that she recognized popped into her head. She shook it off almost immediately.

Malfoy. No bloody way. She wasn't going to marry him, not if she could help it. Not since that incident in the library. Ginny had never paid much attention to him before then; it was generally beneficial to her if she avoided all contact with Draco. But ever since they bumped into each other in the library and Ginny discovered that Draco was sketching her candidly, she couldn't _stop _watching him.

At meal times in the Great Hall, she sat alone and watched him. He sat apart from the rest of the Slytherins, which was something new to her, unattached and silent. He pretty much ate, drank and sketched the entire time. It seemed to be a tremendous passion of his, even more so than hers. Once in a while, he would attempt to sketch her, and she would look away, disgusted. Then he would characteristically smirk at her, teasing and mocking her, when she looked back at him. Ginny would always pretend that the smirk didn't bother her.

But it did.

But he had gotten the message, and turned his gaze to Blaise, someone else who sat alone. He studied her form intensely, the black-tressed girl oblivious of him. Her violet eyes stared bored into the Slytherin tapestry as she raised her dull gold drinking goblet to her mauve colored lips. She would make an interesting subject for Draco to draw; she would keep him busy. Whatever was in the goblet didn't appear to be poison, but the girl's face showed a fierce distaste for it when she drank it. But as quickly as it had come upon her face, it disappeared into a look of blankness and resumed staring at the wall again.

Ginny glanced at Draco. For once, his gray eyes weren't on her; they were on Blaise, then on his paper, then back on the young woman, never glancing up at Ginny. Ginny narrowed her eyes at him; suddenly enraged that he was not looking at her. No, it wasn't rage that filled her.

It was jealously.

Finding out that someone, even Malfoy, had sketched her when she wasn't looking had flattered Ginny greatly. Her first emotion was that of fear, that he had been stalking her, but when she had taken a closer look the sketch, she realized that Malfoy had taken great care to make sure that the picture was accurate. It made her envious of Blaise.

Ginny angrily shook off the events of the past. She needed to paint, and thoughts of Draco were sure to just ruin the soon-to-be masterpiece. The 'man of her dream' looked empty and lonely, if a picture could do that, alone in its sea of creamy beige. She selected a small detail brush and began painted angels along the sides and the top and bottom. They danced around what she hoped to be her future husband. The angels had ribbons of pink and pearl framing him. They were happy, enclosing the handsome, young man.

The cold wind dried the paint quickly as it passed. The paint cracked a little, but held, before Ginny could put a finishing spell on it. And then it cracked no more.

Ginny put on all the caps of the paint, and packed away her brushes. Slinging the bag over her right shoulder, she carefully picked up the drying canvas. It was sized relatively small, 15" by 18", and fit uncomfortably in between her arms. Her bag banged against the canvas and her arm, making it hard to walk normally. She looked as if she had a limp.

A small detail brush poked her in her side. It sent a small jolt of pain through her hip and she grimaced slightly. She propelled the bag back with an elbow behind her and continued walking. It hit her again.

"Grr you," she muttered incoherently to her bag. She said it softly, even though the wind carried it away, moaning loudly over her whispering. That's just what she would need if someone had heard her, a lone Gryffindor who walks to inanimate objects. She put everything down and rummaged for the paintbrush. She found it and put it with the other ones, and picked up her things again. She walked forward about two steps and then ran head-long into…

Of all the people that she could have bumped into, she chose the one holding the leather-bound book. Her bag slid off and fell, the brushes bouncing on the floor and rolled away nosily on the cement. But Ginny didn't bend down and pick them up, and certainly Draco didn't.

They just stood there, under the shelter of the cement awning, looking at one another. Draco looked at Ginny lazily and smirked; Ginny glared at Draco angrily, her cheeks flushed and ears bright red.

"You meant to do that!" she accused him. He shrugged casually. "You bumped into me first. It was my turn," he reasoned. Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but closed it. He was talking about the Library incident.

Draco nodded at Ginny's canvas. "Nice picture," he commented. She narrowed her eyes at him, slightly confused about his comment. He leaned over and tilted his head to the left side to get a better look at the painting. "Nice coloring, nice facial expressions and basic drawing…" he said, trailing his finger over the surface of the painting.

"Oh yes, the Great Draco Malfoy should know," she said sarcastically. "You said it, not me," he said, shrugging. She gave him a frustrated glare, jerking the painting out of his reach. He looked up with raised eyebrows, slightly hurt and surprised.

"Looks like me," he commented, straightening up and studied her caramel eyes, waiting for a reaction. Her wished that he could just sketch her eyes, their depth and coloring was angelic. She defiantly stared up into his gray ones, showing him that she was not afraid or intimidated by him. Something very odd then happened.

Her heart flipped.

She shook it off, bewildered. "It is not you!" she said, insulted. She tried to turn the painting in her arms to face her. When she realized that she couldn't turn it, she shoved it into an amused Draco's arms, the painted side facing her. "No, this isn't you, Malfoy. It's the man in my dreams."

"So flattered that you'd dream of me," Draco said, smirking cockily and suggestively at her. Ginny gave him a withering stare. "Someone had PMS," he muttered sarcastically. She ignored that particular comment and continued.

"He has blue and gray eyes and blonde hair," she said.

"It's white here," he observed bluntly from the top of it. "Yeah, well, that's because I added too much white," she explained.

"I'm sure," he nodded his head, obviously unconvinced. She took the painting out of his arms as roughly as she had put it there. "Look, Malfoy, I don't even know why I'm talking to you like a normal human being," Ginny said angrily, suddenly mad at him. Her face was bright red and her cheeks radiated heat off their hot surface.

Draco wasn't sure if they were hot because of him or the cold. He felt something inside him burst and fade away as he looked at her. His interior quickly became as cold and frigid as the environment surrounding them. The angel had just said that he wasn't human. Much as he hated to admit it, she was most likely right; if she said that he wasn't human, then he probably wasn't.

"You're a _Malfoy_," she sneered as well as she could, holding the painting close to her body; the painted side facing her. She had the upper hand now, she was on the offense, she was calling all the shots.

Malfoy flinched slightly at the rebuke, his free hand, clenched in a fist. The other held the leather sketchbook. She regarded it with a weary eye, semi-wondering what might be in it. He felt was disappointed and enraged, but not particularly surprised. This was nothing that he didn't deserve, it just hurt him that she said it to him in the way that she had. What little hope for a happily-ever-after future disappeared in a snap. Before he could do anything that would hurt him or Ginny, and would therefore regret doing when he looked back in hindsight, he stepped aside and brushed past her, not even bothering to take one last look at her, fearing what he might do. She turned around and watched his retreating figure as he walked a little ways and turned down the corner. She did not pursue him, but instead stood alone and reflected on what she had just done.

It was obvious, really, what she had done. She had hurt him.

Normally, hurting Malfoy's feeling, whatever feelings he did have, would've made her feel great. God knows she deserved to do it every once in a while. But maybe it was the weather, or the environment she was in, but today was different somehow. The way that he had carried himself, with great dignity, grace, elegance, and self-respect, as he walked away from her made her feel…

Well… it made her feel bad. She felt ashamed and dirty, like she had just witnessed the murder of a puppy and done nothing to prevent it. Except worse, she was the killer. It was a strange feeling and for sure Ginny didn't feel exactly comfortable with it. It made her feel like a bully.

She shook her head. These odd feelings, not to mention the heart flipping, had to go. They would be her ruin for sure.

She walked down the cement sidewalk, her footsteps echoing with every step, and back to her lifeless dorm room. Leaning her painting down on the side of her bed, she sat on the edge of the scarlet mattress. Tears began to well up in her chocolate eyes, and she broke down in uncontrollable sobs, crying for some reason she could not fathom.

She hunched her back low, hands over her face in a vain attempt to hold back the mysterious sobs. They seeped through her fingers trailing down her hands and falling, splashing on the carpet below her.

One tear, however, landed by accident on her painting. It touched the man's eye and continued down, leaving a trail of water behind it as it made its way to the ground. Had Ginny noticed the lone tear, she would've assumed that the man had been crying.

And he was crying. Her guardian angel, on the other side of the castle, wept mortal's tears for her.

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Author's Note: if you liked it, review. And if you review, leave an email addy that works so I can e~mail you when the next chapter gets up. Thanks!


	3. The Human Side

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Disclaimer: I own the plot (yes, something original for once!), but I don't own the characters.

Summary: When Blaise intercepts Draco's attempts to throw his sketchbook into the Slytherin Common room fire, she makes him reveal his deepest, darkest secret: his love for Ginny. See a part of Malfoy that he doesn't show a lot; his Human Side.

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Draco's side: The Human Side

'I'm not human? That goes to show you how much you know. You think that I don't love you, Ginny? I'll show you not human.' Draco Malfoy stared into the unusually bright orange fire in the middle of the cold, dank Slytherin common room, both of his fist clenched. The fire lit his face, giving his pale skin an orange hue. His gray eyes hardened and narrowed.

It was cold in the dark dungeons, and empty, too. Not like there had been much activity in there before, but it had been especially empty for the last week due to the fact that everyone else was at home, enjoying their families and stuffing themselves full of holiday-hype food. Malfoy didn't feel like going home, not to Lucius and the rest of the Death Eaters. To Malfoy, Hogwarts was a secret refuge, a temporary hideaway where he could momentarily live without the troubles of his predestined future constantly bothering him. Except for now. Right now, Hogwarts was the last place he wanted to be. As of now, he would rather face one thousand Death Eaters _and_ Voldermolt _and_ the killing curse then be at Hogwarts.

But he was stuck here, and the problems at home paled, to him anyway, in comparison to the problems he faced here.

'I am human,' he thought determinedly. 'I may not go around hugging trees or saving cats from burning buildings, but I am human, strengths and weaknesses included, and I have nothing to prove to her. The book incident was enough already weakness for a lifetime.' He clenched the spine of the leather bound sketchbook that he carried with him everywhere, willing it to bust and cease to exist. It was well worn, even though it was relatively new, and almost full of sketches. They were mostly of Ginny.

"Damn book," he said, looking at the soft, textured cowhide cover. "You're the cause of all this." The book gave no response. Malfoy kept talking to fill in the silence. "It was _your_ fault that you had to open to that page. Why that page?" The book was soundless.

Malfoy raised the book in his hand, aiming it at the fire. This book, his sketchbook, was the problem. So getting rid of it would be the solution.

He hoped that all his problems would burn in it til the blackened pages curled and soot and ash covered the graphite. Then he would crush the smoldering remains of it under his heel, stamping out the pictures and throw them out his window and they would catch the wind and disappear. The whole library/sketch ordeal would vanish into the time and space continuum, only to be remembered by two people, and he would return to his normal life, which consisted of hiding from his father and… not sketching. Homework and Quidditch, he supposed.

And then, after he graduate from Hogwarts, he would fake his death and move to muggle America to escape the Death Eaters. (America held powerful wizards and muggles, and when Voldermolt first began his uprising, they formed a strong resistance effort with England, Spain, France, New Zealand and Australia, and the rest of their magical allies.) He would dye his hair solid purple and pierce his right eyebrow and maybe an ear, so his father couldn't recognize him. He would adopt the identify of Daemon Marks, who was an overweight muggle businessman from Sweden before his father murdered him, and say he was an tourist from Japan, where nobody questioned people with purple hair _and _pierced eyebrows. Then he would pay taxes or whatever you did to become a citizen there, and get a degree in rocket science.

But back on the matter of the book. Malfoy pitched the book in the direction of the fire. He watched it arch and fall, pages flapping and rattling together. He caught a brief glimpse of his sketch of Ginny, the one that she had seen. Then it flipped to another one, a new sketch that he had done of Blaise as she stared at the Slytherin tapestry. The book neared the fire.

As the first flames reached out to curl around the book, it froze. It stopped moving completely, it just stayed there and floated in midair. The pages stopped flapping and flipping, the book stayed still and silent, and the flames retreated.

"Talking to inanimate objects _again_, Malfoy?" an amused voice spoke from the dark stairs. Lazily the book, still in midair, began to float over to the speaker. Blaise Zabini stepped out from the stairs, her wand outstretched and pointing at the book, a mysterious smirk on her mauve lips. She stretched out her arm and took hold of the book.

"Give that back, Zabini. It's mine," he demanded from his spot in the leather easy chair. She turned her head at him, her long damp black hair flowing on her black robed shoulders, her smirk still on her face.

Violet-eyed Blaise Zabini was beautiful and smart, an Orient and Italian beauty (her father being a predominant magical Italian leader and her mother, a beautiful Japanese model) whose rich family was immersed in the Dark Arts. She, personally, thought that it was boring and 'a load of bull', a term that she had picked up from watching MTV and reading too many American novels. Her family had plans for her to be married after she graduated, but Blaise was interested in modeling and fashion designing, and hoped to strike it big in Paris, the city of her dreams. She was quite the misfit, not acknowledged by the other Slytherins because of her lack of interest in the Dark Arts, and to the other houses simply because she was a Slytherin. She would sit alone at tables in the library or in the Great Hall, studying or writing something on a parchment, never letting their non-acceptance of her affect her or her work.

Blaise had celebrated Hanukkah at Hogwarts of her freewill. She did Hanukkah because no one there celebrated it. Malfoy was quick to point out that no one that attended Hogwarts was Jewish. She said that it was the principal of the matter, not the minor 'who said what' details. They were the only two that had stayed, for whatever reason they chose, at Hogwarts from Slytherin. The other students would begin to trickle in the day after tomorrow, New Years.

"Actually, Malfoy, I believe this book is mine," she said, opening the cover. She sat down in the black easychair across from Malfoy and began to flip through pages quietly, taking notice of the details.

"Excuse me?" he asked. "Those are my sketches in there, that is my handiwork, that is my sketchbook and I want it back. _Now_," he added, threateningly. Blaise remained unfazed and yawned. She studied one of the pictures with much interest.

"Correction," she said, looking up from a sketch of the interior of a train car. It was the one that he had traveled in on the Hogwarts Express. "These _were_ your sketches, that _was_ you handiwork, but this is _my_ sketchbook now. When you tossed it, that meant that you no longer wanted it. So it's mine," she explained, then went back to looking at the next sketch. Draco sighed. "Fine, whatever. You want it, it's yours." He went back to staring at the fire. 'Not my problem anymore,' he thought, thinking of his former sketchbook that now lay in Blaise's open hands.

"These are very good, Malfoy," she said, turning the page. It was his first one of Ginny. He felt like hitting his head on the cushioned armrest, even though it wouldn't hurt. Not like the bookcases. Those hurt.

"Thanks," he said, unemotionally, pretending to study his fingernails carefully.

"Who are these of?" Blaise asked, looking up and glancing at him. "Someone you fancy?"

"What is it of you concern?" he asked back, his eyes narrowed. She shrugged. "I just thought that since this girl is so pretty, and that you have so many sketches of her that you have taken a liking into her."

Malfoy might've snorted but it would've confirmed Blaise's suspicions. "Well, you thought wrong," he said stubbornly, his arms folded over his chest.

She looked at him, studying everything: his eyes, eyebrows, chin line, and his posture. She took her wand out of her robe pocket and pointed it straight at him. "Funny, Malfoy, funny. Now this time, tell me the truth," she said.

"What? That's not supposed to be funny. Listen, have you heard the joke about 'purple shades'? No? Ok, so there's this kid that was late getting up for school, and his mum told him not to take the back alleys, but he did anyway, and this bum jumped out at him and yelled 'Purple Shades!' and the kid… oh, ok. I take it you've heard it then," he said, staring at the brown mahogany tip of the wand that was still pointing at him. Blaise was superior in Charms, top in her class. He had been hoping that the joke, which wasn't funny at _all_,would distract her. She didn't answer, she just calmly stared an unnerving stare at him, eyebrows raised, book in her lap, wand pointing at him, and that same smirk on her lips.

"Right," he said, running his hand through his hair. He had taken a shower earlier in the evening, and it fell loosely around his face, giving him a punk rebellious look, contrasting the aristocratic aura that usually surrounded him. "She's a Gryffindor, she's one year younger than me, and did I mention that she hates my guts? And Blaise, did I forget to mention the worst thing? I love her anyway. Even though we'll never even be allowed to date, or even speak with civility to each other, and regard each other with the same level of respect, I do," he said quickly. Blaise nodded in understanding. "Doesn't sound so bad," she said quietly.

"What? She hates my entire being! She would rather kiss Voldermolt than me!" he exclaimed. "Are you sure?" she asked, lowering her wand to her side and going back to looking at the book.

"Yes, I'm sure. Why wouldn't I be sure?" he asked, kicking his feet onto the ottoman. He stared at the fire again. It had consumed most of the charred logs and was slowly dying. It had lost the blue part, it was red and yellow and orange mostly.

"I'm in here," she observed softly, apparent surprise in her melodic voice. "Yeah, you are," he said, remembering the time when he had sketched her. It was in the Great Hall; he had been teasing Ginny, and when she hadn't played along, he adverted his gaze to Blaise, who sat alone and proud, simply staring at the tapestry and occasionally taking a drink of the tea that her mother sent her. Blaise had made a good subject.

She smiled with a surprising look of genuine happiness and flattery. "May I?" she asked shyly, holding up the page. He nodded slightly, still looking at the fire. She carefully tore the page away from the book. Blaise closed the book with a soft thud and looked at Malfoy. She leaned back into her chair and got comfortable, holding the picture close to her before speaking. "So you love her?"

A timid but determined "Yes," came the simple answer from Malfoy's chair.

"What were you going to do with the book?" she asked curiously, looking at the sketchbook that lay in her lap. "Throw it in the fire," he said monotony, still refusing to look at her.

"Why?" she asked. He shrugged but gave no response. He didn't trust himself or Blaise with what he might say. Instead, he glanced at his watch. It read nine thirty seven PM.

Malfoy stood up and stretched. "Sorry to cut our little talk short, Blaise, but I must be getting to sleep," he said, yawning. "Enjoy your picture, by the way. Oh, and you know what I get to do if you tell on me." She stood up too, her hair slightly mused and still damp. 'She must've taken a shower,' he observed. She held the book in one hand and her sketch in the other. "I know, I know Malfoy. You get to kill me." They faced each other and nodded slightly, eyes on the other. "Code of honor," they muttered, then stood up quickly.

"Here, take it," she said, handing it to him. He looked down and then looked up, confused. "Take it," she said, shoving it into his chest.

"Blaise, I tried to throw this into the fire not thirty minutes ago. Why are you giving it back to me?" She shrugged. "With the talent I've seen from this book, I think that you can think of something more creative than throwing a book into a fire, Malfoy, that's all."

"Well, what am I supposed to do with it?" he asked, staring at the cursed cover. Blaise shrugged again. "That's up to you. Why don't you give it to the Gryffindor chick in there?" she asked, referring to Ginny.

"Because she hates my guts. Remember?" he asked, tapping his head as he said remember. Blaise rolled her eyes, exasperated. Draco inwardly fumed; eye-rolling was something that she had picked up from her muggle MTV friends that her parents didn't know she had.

"Malfoy, I'm not asking you to make her like you, I was simply suggesting to give it to her. You don't _have _to."

"Good," he said, walking to the stairs. "I won't."

Malfoy looked at the book that lay beside him on his bedside table. His forest green curtain were open, and the full moon cast an eerie glow on the cover through the glass of the window. He rubbed his gray eyes with the heels of his hands and faked a yawn, trying to convince himself that he was tired. In reality, he was very much awake, his head swarming with thoughts and words and ideas. Blaise's words ran through his head, predominating the jumbled musings: _Why don't you give it to the Gryffindor chick in there?_ The more he considered it, the more it seemed like a good idea. He had nothing to lose, nothing could make her possibly hate him more. He had everything to gain, finally, he could get rid of that blasted book, and Ginny was free to do what she pleased with it. His reputation and his father's would be more than enough to stop any rumor that might come across.

He swung the green and silver silk covers back and put on a plain cotton black shirt and loose black pants over his boxers. He grabbed his black (**A/N: surprise**) cloak and hastily pulled it on. He slipped on a pair of leather shoes, grabbed his sketchbook and left the Slytherin common room in search of Virginia Weasley.

****

Author's Note: Yeah! It's my little part where I get to talk to my reviewers! And hey, if you review, then I'll talk to you too!

FredrickWeasley ~ Hey, you wrote Pumpkin Juice Boy, right? Cute story! You talk about it like it's an anime, and it is. Have you read the manga of Marmalade Boy? I do. Have you read/watched 'Utena', or 'Ranma'. Just wondering.

Iloverwforever ~ Thank you! Really, thanks. A lot of people say on that on various stories of mine, and it really means a ton where I'm comin from. (where? I'm 13 years old (no really, I am. People say it's real freaky how I write like I do), have barely enough freetime to breathe, and the only time I can write stories is in the middle of class or during study hall!) If you liked the descriptions, you might wanna check out my 'Pile of Red Curls' story. You don't sound much like a Draco/Ginny fan. I, on the other, am a diehard fan since the combo of Draco, Ginny, and romance, any rating, only had 7 pages or so.

Jessie Weasley ~ Thanks. Yes, this is unusually deep for me, which makes it hard to write. (Normally, I'd write something way funny and stupid) (check out Death of a Dark Lord if you ever find this too deep)

Anyone else ~ Sorry I couldn't write to you! I hoped you liked this chapter!

Remember: Always read and review the stories that you bother to click on, honesty is the best policy (but, apparently, by process of elimination, dishonesty is the second best policy) never accept candy from strangers, even if it's the good kind of candy, and never, ever eat yellow snow. However, baby blue snow with pink, heart shaped sprinkles is perfectly acceptable.


	4. You Understand Me

****

Disclaimer: Yup, it's original, the plot, I mean. Characters? Yeah, I wish!

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to Sorrow Personified, an author here who was also my beta reader til she downloaded a virus. She was an awesome beta reader. Also, this chapter is dedicated in memory of Seth Luke Sanders, a cute guy who died. Ok, he was in this !Yahoo group that I belong in, Legolas_Greenleaf2, and he lived in Australia. He was really cute and nice, and only 16. He died today or yesterday (11-28-02). So this chapter is in his memory.

Summary: … 'He's wrong,' she thought, 'It does _not _look like him. I don't know want to know what he was thinking!' … Ginny inwardly laughed; her brother's archenemy would understand her better than her closest friends…

Fuming over Draco's obvious mistaken identity in her painting, Ginny becomes oblivious to the facts: she's slowly falling in love with her worst enemy. And that he's the one that understands her the best.

__

Ginny's Side: You Understand Me

Ginny looked at her painting that she had hung on the wall beside her bedside harshly. It was the painting of the man in her dreams, her mysterious groom; the one that Draco has said looked like him. Her face contorted in a scowl, her face became flushed, and her heart sped up. 'He's wrong,' she thought, 'It does _not _look like him. I don't know want to know what he was thinking!' She clenched her hand angrily into a fist.

She pulled on a pair of gray leggings and a long heather gray skirt with a slit that led up to her knees, grabbed an old cream colored V-neck blouse and a black thermal vest that Hermoine had given her for Christmas. She yanked her arms into the sleeves and hastily zipped it up. She almost ripped her white sock that she pulled onto her feet in rage, and she brushed her hair, bewitching the straight red locks into a twisted, braided bun.

Jumping off her scarlet and gold bed with a start, Ginny stormed out into her common room, slamming the door to the sixth grade dormitories behind her loudly. It was comfortably warm from the roaring fire, even on the top of the small stone bridge; the Gryffindor common room's fire always seemed to be roaring. Ginny stood up at the top of the stone stairs, looking down, hands resting on the banister. Her classmates, Emily and Louise, sat on the couch, their procrastinated Holiday homework spread on the coffee table in front of them, books piled tall on either sides of the couch.

"Ginny!" Emily waved at her enthusiastically, looking up from a piece of parchment that contained more blotted out words than anything else. She placed her peacock quill back into the black inkwell.

Ginny smiled weakly and gave a half-hearted wave back. Her mind was still preoccupied on Draco. She had been thinking about him a lot for the last week. She didn't know why, random thoughts like 'I wonder what's Draco doing right now', and 'Draco would sketch that scene, I'm sure', and the most frequent thought, 'I wonder what's in that bloody sketchbook that he always carries around.'

Louise looked at Ginny, eyebrows raised and smirk on her lips. 'That's a look that Draco wears a lot,' she thought instantly.

"Emily, don't try talking to her now; she's thinking about _Malfoy_," Louise said, then giggled a little. Ginny sent her friend a sharp glare. "What makes you think that?" she demanded.

Emily smiled understanding. "Come on, Ginny, surely you can't think that we're _that_ thick. We see you in the Great Hall, you sit all by yourself and all you do is stare at him. And we see him smirk at you, and you get all red, like you are now. But we don't blame you. We all think that he's good-looking too." Louise nodded. "You guys would make _such _a cute couple," she sighed jealously. "That's _so_ Romeo and Juliet-ish. How romantic," she melodramatically placed a pale hand over her forehead and pretended to faint onto the padded armrest.

Ginny gaped at her friend's accusation. Her cheeks burned and her heart pumped loudly. Draco; he was making her do this. He was making her cheeks red and her heart beat faster and her words stutter. Before, that had been Harry. Now it was… Draco? No! There was something wrong with that!

She couldn't like Draco Malfoy. He was pure evil from his hair roots down, except for the whole sketching thing. For as long as she could remember, his gray eyes would glare at her, his lips would be in a hateful smirk, and a rude sneer would exit them. Except now, he'd just stare at her, and smirk a little nicer, and maybe even complement her. Something was wrong inside him, she could feel it.

"That's not right!" she said shrilly, stamping her foot down on the cement. "Draco makes me mad! See, it started in the library when I saw…" Emily interrupted her. "See, you just called him 'Draco'! And the library? What happened there?" she asked, interested.

Ginny rolled her eyes. They wouldn't understand the whole sketchbook thing. They would think that it was sweet, a cute little gesture. They might even think that it was _romantic_! And they wouldn't understand her painting and it's meaning. She was an artist, and Draco was an artist, he'd understand better than they would. She inwardly laughed; her brother's archenemy would understand her better than her closest friends. Her cheeks grew redder as she realized what she had just thought of. Her brother's, and her, worst enemy, understanding better what she was trying to tell her closest friends.

Emily whistled, and a few of the several students' heads turned to look her way. "She must be thinkin' something _really _steamy, Lou," she said, nudging her friend. Louise laughed.

"Thinking really steamy with who?" a deep voice came from the entrance to Gryffindor tower. Ron came in, hair wet. He was rubbing his damp hair down, snow falling in chunks on the carpet. "No one," Ginny said quickly, looking at Harry, who was looking at her, thoroughly puzzled. Ginny was so embarrassed at what was going to happen that she didn't notice her heart didn't speed up, nor had she lost her ability to form words that had more than three letters.

"Draco Malfoy," Emily said at the same time, grinning at Ron. He gave his little sister a funny look. She mentally pleaded back. "That's not true, Emily," Hermoine tisked, who was untying her gold and red scarf and dusting off all the powdery snow and unbuttoning her cloak.

Harry, Ron, and Hermoine had arrived yesterday from Egypt, days before the rest of the school had started filling in with students. Ron still had all this things scattered about the empty dormitory, things that needed to be put back. They had been outside, having a snowball fight in the mushy snow.

"It is true," Emily retorted defensively, "She even has a picture with him next to her bed. She painted it herself. It's really good, Ron, you should see it." Ginny's eyes widened to the size of saucers and she clasped her hands over her gaping mouth. Ron shot up the stairs and turned into the sixth year girls' dormitory, slamming the door open. She cringed at the sound of as it rebounded off the wall. Harry and Hermione looked at each other, unsure of what to do. They jumped the stairs after their hydrophobic friend.

"Harry!" Ginny yelled, "Tell Ron that it's not what he thinks! It's not Draco!" Harry gave her a confused look as she ran down the stairs. "Since when is it 'Draco'?" he asked Hermione, baffled. She raised her eyebrows and shrugged, looking at the frantic Ginny.

"Where are you going?" Louise demanded from her spot on the couch. Ginny glanced over her shoulder as she clasped her brother's loose worn black cloak around her neck. She could hear Ron yelling loudly in her room. "I am getting away from Ron the psychopath," she said, flipping his scarf, now dry, around her neck, and shuffling through the various pockets for a pair of gloves.

"And you're taking his cloak because…" Emily asked as she put the right glove on. "So he can't chase after me!" she said, running to the portrait exit and pushing it out. She could her friends laugh as the portrait closed behind her, the Fat Lady huffing loudly.

She ran as fast as Percy's old leather winter boots could carry her. She slowed down as she walked near the open and thoroughly deserted courtyard. She walked through the snow to the gate. She closed it behind her and walked to the lake, which glistened and rippled in the moonlight. It had melted earlier, due to unnaturally warm weather yesterday and they day before, and the knee high snow had been reduced to ankle deep mush that occasionally refroze into powder overnight.

She took out her wand and melted a spot of snow. She sat on the hard ground and let the cool wintry spring air cool her red hot cheeks as she ran over what had just happened in her head. She had called Draco 'Draco' twice without even realizing it. She didn't blush when she looked at Harry eye-to-eye, yet she always blushed whenever she thought of Draco.

'No,' she thought firmly. 'I cannot love Draco Malfoy. I just can't! I can't like his gray eyes, or his sneer, or for the way he talks to me, or…

'Oh my gods. I'm falling in love with Draco Malfoy.'

****

Author's Note: Happy belated Thanksgiving, everyone! I mean, even if you don't celebrate it… whatever.

Umm… I need a beta~reader. I was lucky cuz I e~mailed this story to her before a virus attacked her. So… yeah, I need a new beta~reader. If you're interested, please note these requirements: Gender doesn't matter, however, age, year in school, grades, and how often you check your e~mail does. You must be @ _least_ 14 years old and in the ninth grade. You must have @ _least_ a B+ in English and be fairly good @ spelling (and you must be honest, cuz it's not like I'm gonna check it). If you qualify, e~mail me @ Demetria1234@cs.com** or say something in your review. (I am actually looking for 2 or 3 betas to really fine comb my stories, so whatever) I have one more chapter that's already written and several scrubby plot bubbles that are in the process of being written, but won't get posted til I have it beta-ed….**

Shoutouts:

To everyone that thought of the DM/BZ: Eww! I've never really liked that ship. I was gonna have a story where Blaise falls in love with Harry and writes angsty poems, but that was a little plot bunny who has, once again, eluded me.

Them Girl: thanks for the e~mail and for the nice comments. Wanna know why it's so good? Cuz I have no life!

Lee Velviet: You're an artist? I'd love to see some of your work! Like I said, the first chapter wasn't all *that* original.

FredrickWeasley: *is utterly confused* Are you saying that the majority is just a group of minorities that is so big that they just overpower the majority. So the majority is the minority. I don't think that could work, cuz as soon as the minority is higher than the majority, they would become the majority and vise versa. It's a self licking ice cream cone.

ChocolateMuse: Draco Malfoy does America… hmm… I'll have to remember that one. No, actually, I might have a chapter where D and G are in America… opps!

Iloverwforever: What do you mean 'God-forsaken'? Don't like it? Anyways, yeah, I'm 13, so thanks. It's amazing, people are like 'Wow, you're 13? You can't be!' And that's becuz I have so much time on my hands that I can go over a one paged chapter and add so much more dialogue and adj. That it's 3 pages. The sad story of my life. But thanks.

Orothoroniel aka Celena: thanks, but… where'd you get this story from. Not complaining or nuttin, but I thought that you were more of a LotR author…

Ri: no, actually, answering my own question is quite normal for me. But then again, I'm what you could call crazy. Not like really insane, but not quite right. There I go, over analyzing things again. So glad you liked my story. Heehee. I read your review @ school… bad girl I am, such a rebel…

Linda: why does your chest hurt? I know when I read a really good angst, I get this feeling in my hands, is it like your chest? Zeus, not like that! 

Oh yeah. Remember to read and review! And leave an e~mail address that works so I can e~mail you when the *next* chapter is uploaded! Thanks!

~ Kiah/Tuilindo

Remember: Always read and review the stories that you bother to click on, honesty is the best policy (but, apparently, by process of elimination, dishonesty is the second best policy) never accept candy from strangers, even if it's the good kind of candy, and never, ever eat yellow snow. However, baby blue snow with pink, heart shaped sprinkles is perfectly acceptable.


	5. Angel in a World of Demons

****

Disclaimer: I do not own anything or character mentioned in this story. Nothing. At all. *sob*

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to Emily/Serpentine Princess, who is my best friend. If you've read enough of my stories, you should know that she has been my best friend since forever, and she's inspired me to write stories in the first place. (I discovered D/Gs stories, though) So yeah, she's my best friend and she means a ton to me and she is very talented. She's crazy and lotsa fun to be around and this chapter's dedicated to her!

Summary: Draco and Ginny coincidentally meeting up out past the courtyard one cold winter night after some conflicting events in their dormitories. They both are confused and deeply in love with each other. But they know they can't be together. Not now, not ever. And they're so in love that they're willing to comply with that fate.

Author's Note: if you were expecting them to finally get together, sorry. You know, I thought, when I started writing this chapter, they'd get together. But they don't, so don't flame me. They will, eventually.

__

~*~

If we listen to each other's heart

We'll find we're never too far apart

And maybe love is the reason why

For the first time ever we're seeing it eye to eye

~ Eye to Eye, A Goofy Movie

~*~

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Angel in a World of Demons

"Figured you'd be out here," Draco said to Ginny's backside. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, head bent and resting on them. She looked deep in thought. Ginny didn't respond or even turn around, she stared straight ahead, at the dark, rippling lake as the icy wind blew over the surface. The brilliant moonlight shone down on them, casting a pure white light on the entire area where they stood.

Draco could see the large lake that surrounded most of the castle, bubbling, with little waves that crashed onto the small cliff where Ginny sat. He could hear faint scratching and scuffling in the Forbidden Forest and gave an involuntary cringe at the memory of his encounter in it in his first year at Hogwarts. The banners that adorned the Quidditch towers and poles coasted lazily in the night breeze. The snow on the field was still virgin, untouched until the Quidditch games started up again.

Malfoy stuffed his hands into his pant pockets to avoid possible frostbite from the cold environment; his sketchbook in the crook of his right arm. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"May I um... sit down?" he asked. Still no answer from the mute Ginny. "Next to you, maybe?" He felt like an idiot that talked to walls, Hogwarts had several of them. He waited for a response, then finally taking her silence as having no objection, he sat in the small melted spot next to Ginny, careful not to get his bottom wet and cold from the snow.

"So...how's the weather fairing?" he asked lamely, trying to make conversation. He sat down and leaned closer to her, accidentally bumping into her shoulder.

Ginny's eyes opened wide and her body stiffened when he touched her. Her already red cheeks flushed, not in cold, but in embarrassment and in happiness and in confusion and the tiniest bit of anger. Her heart sped up when she realized just how close they were on the spot she melted.

'No', she told herself. 'That's just hormones that are acting up, it can't be a real feeling. I mean, Draco's good looking and a mediocre artist, but he's a future deatheater!' she tried telling herself. But she knew better; she knew that she was falling in love, and the more that she thought about it, the harder she'd fall. She was surprised, however, when she realized that she no longer cared that he was to become a deatheater.

"Watch it!" she spat angrily, flipping her head at him but staring at his nose instead of his eyes. His nose had a small ski-slope flip to them, and the skin was smooth and pale. It wasn't like her nose, her nose was freckled, tanned, and small. Her eyes dropped to his soft pink lips. For once, they weren't in a smirk. They were speechlessly open in surprise. They looked so kiss-able, just one kiss wouldn't hurt her.

'No!' Ginny scolded herself.

Draco raised his eyebrows in an arch. "Sorry," he muttered moodily, looking into her brown eyes. He sighed inwardly when he saw hate and anger, and scooted over into the snow. It melted and seeped into his pant bottoms. She narrowed her eyes and tried to be angry with him, tried to hate him with all her heart.

She couldn't.

'Maybe Blaise was wrong to think that I had nothing to lose,' he thought to himself. 'Maybe I was wrong to think I have nothing to lose. I have a lot I could lose: my pride, dignity, courage…'

"What's wrong with you lately, Draco? You've been acting really odd since last week, and I don't like it. Not one bit!" Ginny declared, waking Draco out of his reverie, crossing her arms over her chest. His gray eyes flicked over her with distaste and disgust, and she felt small and childish for her outburst. Her cheeks burned with an intense and mysterious desire for him, so intense that it frightened her.

Instantly, he hardened himself into the uncaring, defensive Draco that she was all too familiar with. No longer was the aura that had surrounded him warm; it was replaced by a cold, uncaring aura. He was as cold and as frigid as his crystallized breath that blew out in front of him. Even though someone sat next to her, Ginny suddenly felt alone, as if the person next to her had no concern for her.

The wind blew around them, and several small pieces of hair caught it and freed themselves from her bun. They settled back down attractively, like waterfalls of liquid, red fire. Draco's hair flew forward and then fell back, falling around his face. His hard gray eyes looked forward to something that she couldn't see, something that she wouldn't see. Something that only he could see. She almost didn't recognize him. He looked lonely and vulnerable, almost human. She instantly regretted the harsh words that she had said.

'Draco,' he thought as he stared into the dark horizon, to where the lake met the sky. 'She called me 'Draco'.'

"Go ahead," he said, almost in a sad and angry teasing manner, full of regret. A teasing manner that Ginny was unaccustomed to. He spoke with a controlled voice from in-between clenched teeth. She shifted uncomfortably on the ground, not knowing what to expect from him. "It's not like I don't deserve any of this. I mean, I've treated you and your entire family like crap for the last six years. It's about time that it was all shoved back into my face. I just wish it wasn't you, Ginny," he said, looking straight up and staring into her warm, brown eyes. He looked away almost as quickly as he had dared to look in her eyes in the first place, uncharacteristically ashamed and weak. 'Draco? Weak?' she silently laughed at the irony.

"Here, take it," he said, taking his sketchbook out of his arm and placing it in her lap without looking at her. "I don't want it anymore." He stood up to leave.

Ginny felt relieved that Draco has given her something else to look at, though a little uncomfortable when she recognized it as the sketchbook that she has seen. The one that had the picture of her in it. The one that had started the mess.

"Well..." she began uncomfortably and slow, thoroughly flabbergasted. "I really don't want this, Draco."

'Stop it, Ginny!' she yelled at herself. 'He'll get comfortable, you're all alone, who knows what will happen!? You know Draco! You know what he's capable of!' she screamed and fretted.

"So take your stupid book back!" she yelled, hurting Draco's ears, though he didn't flinch. She angrily picked it out of her lap and flung it down the hill. It slid on the snow, spinning around and around until it hit a bank, spine side engulfed in white snow. She stood up hastily to leave, brushing snow off her left side.

"Yeah, I figured you'd do something like that." He gave a cold, disembodied laugh, his head pointed towards the ground. She stopped moving. "Me?" He looked up and looked at her. She looked so beautiful in the moonlight, her hair blowing to one side of her head and her freckles dimmed by the intense light. "I tried to throw it in the fire. Unfortunately, Blaise Zabini intercepted it and told me to give it to you."

She eyed him from where she stood. "Why would you, Malfoy, listen to the advice of someone else, much less take it?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno why, I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time, which was probably eight minutes ago or so, and I figured that I have nothing to lose. I can obviously see that I was wrong to assume so." He took a step back and crunched the freezing snow, wrapping his cloak tighter around him. 'It must be getting late', he thought. 'The temperature has dropped several degrees already.' "And technically," he continued after a pause. "Since you're in it, I thought you might want to see what else is in it. I dunno, I thought that you might appreciate it."

"Dra - Malfoy, why would you think I would appreciate your work?" she asked testily. "You and your family mean nothing to me. Your name is like the dirt under my shoes and your sketchbook is like mush left behind after everyone has stepped on the snow. It just goes to show how _weak _you Malfoys really are."

Swallowing hard and clenching his hands into fists, he treaded through the snow to where his book lay. His mood flared like oil to a fire as he thought about what she had just said. Some of the pages were wet with snow, and melted snowflakes lay on the cover.

__

You and your family mean nothing to me.

He picked it up and wiped it on his already wet robe_._

Your name is like the dirt under my shoes and your sketchbook is like mush left behind after everyone has stepped on the snow.

Head down, he took out his wand from the interior of his robe and muttered a spell.

__

It just goes to show how weak you Malfoys really are.

From the tip of it sprouted a tiny red flame which he placed at the corner of his sketchbook.

Angry at being ignored and heart-breaking, Ginny stormed through the snow and mush to where Draco stood, shielding his back from the cold wind that threatened to extinguish the small flame. She grabbed the book out of Draco's hands and flung it behind her, trying to ignore the tingling sensation that she felt when their hands had touched.

"Whatever you're doing to make me feel sorry for you, stop it. And whatever you've done to make me like you, take it off!" she commanded boldly, glaring into his gray eyes. She was surprised to see sorrow, sadness, regret. He looked to the side, away from her eyes. She waited and glared, heart beating wildly.

Draco took a deep breath. She had done it, crossed the line of dignity and disgust. With as much restraint as he could, he would not hurt her. But he'd make it quite clear that he was not at fault.

"Whatever I'm doing to you?! You, Weasley?" he demanded angrily. He glared back suddenly, and Ginny took a step back in surprise at the turn of the mood. "You? Do you have any idea what you do to me? Everytime something comes out of your mouth, everytime I even think about you, you know what happens to me? My heart breaks, and I feel hope just fade away into oblivion. Whatever's going on with you is nothing to what I'm feeling; it's something so deep I doubt you will ever experience it!" He sound brash and harsh, raw anger and untainted love flowing free through his veins. He had gained the upper hand that he had lost when she first saw his sketchbook.

For the first time since the library, Ginny felt afraid. The fear of his outburst shone in her brown eyes and she clamped her hands over her freezing cold ears and jammed her eyes closed. Her mind ran over the words he had just said. _Do you have any idea what you do to me? Everytime something comes out of your mouth, everytime I even think about you, you know what happens to me?_ What was she doing to him? How could she stop anything that she wanted to happen?

'No', she thought, firmly. 'You know what happens when you trust the enemy. It happened to Tom, you know that it'll happen with Draco'

"Go away, Draco," she said, her voice, painfully thick. A large lump was developing the back of her throat. Her head throbbed. "Go away and don't talk to me. Ever again." Tears welled up in her eyes. Draco looked at her, wanting to hold her crying figure in his arms and embrace her warmly, telling her that everything was going to be alright, and yet, he restrained himself. He knew he shouldn't. He knew that it would break his heart when he let go.

"Is - is that what you want?" he asked, uncertainly, trying to regain composure. Seeing Ginny cry had unnerved him; it was something that was rarely seen by anyone – she was a Weasley and Weasley's never cried. Fear of a bleak crept into him; a future that she was commanding him to. One he knew he would comply to.

"No," she hiccuped, wiping the tears away from her eyes. She looked at him through blurred vision. He stood in front of her, his handsome face impassive as stone. "It's not what I want at all. Damnnit, I love you back, I really do. But it's what is right. Please, Draco, leave. Go. Don't look back at me and don't talk to me and don't think of me and don't love me."

'She loves me, she loves me, damnnit, she loves me!' he thought. He lifted his shoulders, than heaved them quickly as if they had heavy weights on them that were taken away, only to be replaced with heavier ones. He took a deep breath as if it was his last. It was the last one as he knew it.

"If that's what you want, fine. I am so in love with you, Ginny, that I'll do it for you. I am so in love with you that it scares me on a daily basis just what I will do because I love you." He walked over to where she stood and leaned over, kissing the top of her red head and took a step back. It was a small, chaste kiss, but he wanted so much more. He looked at her one last time, then turned and walked away, sloshing through the mushy snow, cloak trailing behind him. He didn't look back, like she had requested. But he couldn't stop thinking about Ginny.

And he couldn't stop loving Ginny. He would never stop loving Ginny.

~

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I am so in love with you that it scares me on a daily basis just what I will do because I love you.

Ginny sobbed loudly as she thought over Draco's parting words. She had just sent away the one person who desired nothing more than to be with her for the rest of her life. She had sent away the one person that understood her better than her closest friends and family. She had just sent away the one person who made her go crazy with a passion that no one else could make her feel. She had just sent away the one person she loved. All because he was Draco Malfoy.

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Draco Malfoy.

For the longest time, that name made her mad, made her angry. Now, it filled her with so much emotion, she wanted to scream and sing, laugh and cry, yell and whisper - all at the same time.

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Draco Malfoy. For the longest time, Ginny hated Draco with her heart. Her family would be so infuriated to find out that she had fallen in love with the family enemy.

__

Draco Malfoy. It had been a curse word, one that she and her brothers would laugh at on end. Now it was the angel's blessing and the devil's tease to hear it.

__

Draco Malfoy. He was doomed as a deatheater, and they'd fight against him in an instant. Now the battle seemed more like a fight between her and her heart. Now, she seemed like the doomed one.

Cold tears streamed down her freckled face, tears of love and heartbreak. The top of her head where he had kissed her was burning, and the rest of her was as numb as ice. Snow was beginning to fall down, light flakes that glittered in the moonlight. She turned and walked blindly through the light snowfall, searching for Draco's sketchbook before it became consumed with the angel's sorrow.

Wiping the tears that trailed down her cheeks with her borrowed sleeve, she picked it up out of the snow, dried it, and tucked it securely under her arm. Ginny walked slowly to the castle through the courtyard and under the stone awnings where she and Draco had met up for a second time, imagining what it would have been like to have Draco walking by her side on that cold, winter night.

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Review and you will automatically be entered in a drawing for a year-supply's worth of GOVERNMENT CHEESE!

GENERAL SERGION'S WARNING: I am just joking. Do not take me seriously becuz I do not take myself seriously.

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!! ~ Kiah


	6. What Happens When the Sun Hides its Face...

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Disclaimer: Hum… lesse, what do I own now? I own Ginny's purse, the broken tea cup, Harry's wet towel (which I will auction off on e!bay), a Triton broom, and Draco's baseball cap and skateboarding pants and shoes. And the black hair dye; can't forget that. Oops. Did I say that? I didn't mean to.

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to my friend Ag. She's an author here and she attends my school, along with Em. She's a little newbie, and she writes 'So this is Love', which is a really cute story so you should all go out and read it. But anyways, here's why: Ag is a great person. She's polite and funny and never says anything bad. I think that she's never sinned, aside from the whole sister business. So yeah, this is her chapter, so she better get a ton of reviews.

Author's Note: You know what I just realized? I just realized that in 'The Human Side', Draco tried to destroy the book by means of Fire. In 'Angel in a World of Demons' Ginny tries to bury it in snow. Do you get the similarities: Draco = Ice/snow, Ginny = fire? I didn't even mean to do that. I guess my subconscious is smarter than I give it credit for.

Ack! After some serious Draco-related examination, I have realized something: Draco is horribly OoC and my chapters are too short. This one is a whooping 10 pgs., but the other ones aren't as long. And he's being a tad too soft. Please bear with me as I try to find places where I can fit Draco's *real* character.

Summary: Bad things happen when the sun hides its face and the sky turns gray. People get hurt and hearts are broken. When Draco willingly turns away and walks from her, she can't help but wonder why, and examine her feelings for the young Slytherin. But what can she do when he turns up missing?

======

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…Better to have love and lost than to have never loved at all…

Would you leave me if, when I fall to the ground?

Will you still love me every time I am down?

Will you help me up and put my arm into you?

Because I want to do what you want me to do.

~ Everyday Sunday, Would you Leave?

======

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Would you leave if the Sun hid its face?

It was raining outside, warm and hard. Ginny Weasley wiped her eyes, shielding them from the pouring sheets. It was spring already, the end of the year. She could see students with their heads bent, bustling, trying to board the train as soon as possible. Ginny herself stood by the red brick arch in the Hogsmead station, leaning on the wet stone on the outside. She didn't know why she was waiting and watching as the passengers boarded the train, but here she was, soaked to the bone, hair and clothes wet with rain. She couldn't help but feel sad and gloomy. She wiped some rain off her forehead with her robe sleeve.

"You wouldn't be crying, would you?"

She turned around and looked. Draco Malfoy was smirking behind her, his silver hair parted from the pounding rain and plastered to his head. Some stuck over his ears. He was soaked too, his wet robe glued to his perfect body.

"No," she said, stepping into the shelter that the arch offered, "Why would I be crying?"

He shrugged. "Maybe because it's the end of the year. I dunno. _Je ne suis pas vous_," he said in a flawless French accent.

Students hurried by, some wailing, some laughing, all of them talking loudly. But to Ginny, they weren't there, it was just her and Draco.

"What does that mean?" she asked quietly, to herself more than anyone else, stepping closer to him.

"It means, 'I am not you', at least, I think that's what it means. I heard some Ravenclaw prefect girl recite it from a book and thought that it sounded really cool."

She laughed a little inspite of herself. "Well, I can't say that this has been an uneventful year," she said, thinking about all that had happened to her, and him, in the last six months. He nodded in agreement, unspeakably happy that she was talking to him.

Behind Draco, thunder sounded and lightening crackled across the sky, happening almost at the same time. The warm spring rain intensified.

"Shall we?" he asked, gesturing to the train, its engine roaring and streaming. She shrugged. "I kind of like it out here," she said, gesturing to the station. The rain, if possible, poured harder. It seemed to be encouraging her to board the train, but Ginny was perfectly happy out here with Draco. He raised his eyebrow at her response as he grabbed her hand and, literally, dragged her onto the train as it began to move.

Laughing loudly, Draco let go of her hand. The train door slammed behind Ginny with a crash and the sidewalk moved faster and faster as she tried in vain to ignore the tingling sensation that his touch had left her with, tried to omit the rare tingle in his gray eyes. The train lurched forward, gaining speed. Ginny was rocked from her feet and slammed forward on the wet hall floor, her hands out in front of her. An awkward silence followed. From her view on the floor, Ginny studied everything in the train hallway but refused to let her eyes acknowledge the man studying her.

"Well, I'll see you later, Weasley," he said, pivoting on his heels and walking down the hall. His head was bent and water dripped of the tips of his hair and down his sopping wet cloak which dragged on the floor.

"Wait!" she yelled as she scrambled up the steps and down the hall, the carpet soaked with wet footsteps. He turned, his nimble hand running through his wet hair. His eyes held the unanswered questions that buzzed around in Ginny's head. Why were they acting so friendly? Why was nobody reprimanding them for talking?

Draco walked down to where she was just standing up. Her wet ponytail weighed her head down, one large bunch of saturated hair that fell to the middle of her back. She took off her cloak and squeezed the water out of it. The drops fell down onto the red carpet and splattered, unable to absorb any more water. She draped it over her arm casually.

"What?" he asked. Ginny shrugged helplessly, unable to form a reasonable excuse. "Look, Weasley, as much as I want to talk to you, I can't. You said so yourself, luv, and for once, you're right. I'll see you around, ok?" he asked.

"What?!" Ginny exclaimed angrily. "Aren't you the reason that this whole matter started in the first place? You're the one that started talking to me first! And so what if I said don't talk to me ever again!? It's the end of the school year, Draco, no one, save Ron, will care if we talk. For that last months I have obsessed over your sketchbook, looked at you in the halls and at dinner and at Quidditch. I have never felt more happier when I looked at you, and you know why that is? It's because I'm in love! I fell in love with you! I said that we couldn't be together because we can't, but we can still talk, can't we?"

He shook his head, disappointed. "Ginny, believe me when I say I feel the same way. But who knows what innocent 'talking' will get us in to? You know either of us won't protest," he said, inching closer and closer to Ginny.

"Look, Ginny, forget about me. Forget about this year and everything that's happened between you and me, forget about your painting of me, forget about my sketchbook. Just forget it all. Come back next year and find someone else to love and love back. Be happy. Smile. Don't think about me," he said coldly. The rain pounded harder on the roof of the car, its echo blaring in the hall.

Ginny was officially confused; Draco was talking as if he was going to kill himself. He was talking as if he was going leave and never return. "I don't want to forget about you," she said childishly and pleadingly.

"Please, Ginny. It's better if you do forget about all of this. Don't worry, luv. I hate it when you're not happy, especially when it's my fault." His eyes held desperation, love, and care, but his face was firm and stubborn. He reminded Ginny of a caring parent who had trouble punishing their child, but whose moral interfered with love.

"Draco, I'm happy with you. Please, stop talking like this," she said desperately, clamping her hands over her ears. Draco looked at her sadly. She had no idea what this made him feel like, what he was going to do. Gently but firmly, he removed her wet hands from their hold over her ears and held them in his. His head bent low as if he was going to kiss her, but he didn't. He knew what would happen; he knew that it would only serve to break his heart. Instead, he leaned close to her ear, hands held by his chest as if, if she let go, he would fall. Ginny wanted to scream in frustration and anger.

"I'm always with you," he said, speaking into her hot red ears, "You just won't always see me."

He looked at her one last time and disappeared down the corridor.

~

Ginny was numb with shock and confusion. The sky was almost black outside and the lights in the hallway had been turned on, casting a gilded glow on everything in the hall. She walked with heavy steps to an empty compartment two cars down from where she had came. She shut the door firmly behind her and looked through the window, down the hall, as if Draco was going to come back.

She wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come to her eyes. 'I'm all cried out', she decided as she sat close to the window and stared out, depressed. The rain pelted the window pane, the sky was as gray as her mood. She leaned her head onto the glass, her warm forehead flesh contradicting with the cold pane.

"I can't forget him," she told herself. "I won't."

'I'm always with you.' Draco's words came back to her as she stared out into the bleak countryside as the train sped its way back to Kings Cross Station. She questioned them; he had left her moments ago.

'Would you leave me if the sun hid its face in shame?' she wondered. 'Would you abandon me if the sky fell down? Would you catch me if I fell? Would you hold me in your arms and say it's all ok if I was scared?' She groped around in her bag and came across a parchment, quill, and ink well. She began to scribble down the confused and desperate thoughts. She knew that she was being sappy, but she didn't care. These were her most desolate wonderings.

'Would you dry my tears with your hands and kiss away my fears? Would you fly with me to the moon and swim with me in the sea? Would your eyes be strayed by a prettier girl or a smarter woman? Would you leave me here to cry?'

She smiled sheepishly as she read what she had written; she sounded so romantically helpless. She felt a lump in her throat and swallowed hard. She rolled her eyes, acting as if the parchment and the feelings wr7itten on it were nothing to her, and folded, stuffing it in her bag. Her hand brushed the cover of the one book that she kept with her all the time, Draco's sketchbook. 'I will not forget about him,' she vowed firmly, renewed hope, determination, and general stubbornness forming inside her body, in the very center of her heart. She stood up to use the loo and left the parchment on the seat.

For the rest of the entire trip, she stared out the window, into the gray sky, and couldn't help thinking how much they resembled Draco's steely eyes.

====

"So good to be home when you can stay up late and sleep in for hours," Ginny yawned loudly, stretching her arms out wide behind her. She was at the kitchen table of her parent's house, the summer after she had graduated. The warm summer sun shone through the windows and shone on her arms and legs. She pulled the bottom of her short peach pajama tanktop down so that it covered the top of her matching bottoms, short shorts. She brushed her red hair out of eyes as she read over the note on the counter.

Ginny -

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We're out of root of tree again, so I have to go to Diagon Alley for awhile. Don't worry, dear, I'll pick up some canvases and new paint for you. Thank goodness your father got promoted. Your father's at work, and Harry and Ron are out in the lawn, practicing Quidditch. They've been out there since 9, I do hope that they're ok. There are some scones and some raspberry jam on the counter if you get hungry. I shall be back around 4:30.

Love, Mum

She took the whistling kettle off the fire, bewitching it to float over to her with her wand. She carefully poured the boiling water into a white, glazed ceramic mug, painted angels dancing around the cup and added some sugar to the steaming water. She grabbed a lemon tea bag out of the cupboard and dunked it into the steamy sugar water.

As she waited for her tea to cool down, she sat down and looked at the Daily Prophet that lay open on the table, delivered sometime earlier. She skimmed the headlines slowly as she lifted the cup to her lips. An article in the 'Human Interest' section as she drank her tea. Furthermore, the picture that was included in it. She swallowed with great difficulty, a large lump developing in her throat. The article was titled:

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"Prominent Wizard's Son Missing; Presumed Dead."

Ginny dropped the mug and it fell to the floor with a crash. She grasped the paper with trembling hands.

"Ginny?" Ron asked, walking into the kitchen through the side door, still in his violent orange practice robes, his Firebolt held in his left arm. Harry followed him, dressed in robes of white and navy blue, his Triton slung over his shoulder. (The Triton broomstick was designed by Ron's girlfriend, Hermoine. It had a better arrow-dynamic design, easier control, and was easier to take care of. She had given one to Harry on his birthday. Ron, of course, had one, but he used Harry's old Firebolt, which he bought for twenty-five galleons last year from him, as a practice broom) Harry was staying at their house for a couple weeks over the summer as Ron's guest. He and Harry were sweating hard and red from practice. He leaned his broom against the door frame and walked over to his little sister, avoiding the broken ceramic that littered the floor. Ginny stared at the article, shocked.

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Draco Malfoy, it read, _son of the prominent Lucius Malfoy, was reported missing Thursday by former classmate, Blaise Zabini, noted fashion designer and model. Her connection or knowledge of Draco is unknown at the moment, but has been taken in by the Ministry for questioning. Lucius Malfoy offered no comment, spurring intrigue and suspicions all over the wizarding world. Mr. Malfoy Senior is funding the investigation, saying only that, "Draco has much need to me right now."_

Draco Malfoy was last seen on July 15 leaving King Cross Station in muggle London as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station. Muggle passengers saw him leave, and then he was gone, mingling with the children and their families as they left the train. His current whereabouts are unknown.

The article went on to describe what he looked like, which Ginny had already memorized, and a number to which to contact the Ministry by.

"Serves him right. I knew he had it coming. No body can be that rotten to anyone and honestly expect to live very long," Ron declared. Harry agreed and pointed out that there was a handsome reward if you had information about him. "Where?" Ron asked. Harry leaned over and brushed Ginny's shoulder, pointing at the bottom. The amount was very large. Ginny, however, took no notice that they were even talking. 'Draco… missing… June 15…' the thoughts all jumbled in her head, mixed with feelings of sadness, loneliness, and grief.

Heartbreak.

"Can I take this, you guys?" she asked, turning around and looking at the two boys that stood behind her, her red curls swishing around her head. "I mean, you won't need it or anything, right?" The picture of Malfoy looked at her quizzically. The both shook their heads, baffled.

"Good," she said, then apparated up to her room.

She landed on her cream-colored bed, biting back tears. 'Draco is gone,' she thought sadly. 'Disappeared, presumed dead,' she thought, looking at the Draco in the picture. His head was tilted up, his hair slicked back; he looked like he did back in school. Ginny felt a new wave of tears and a lump in her throat.

She couldn't help thinking what had happened on June fifteen, where she had been. June fifteen was the day that she had came home after graduation. She had arrived home only two weeks ago and gotten, so the memory was still fresh in her head.

_She had been getting off the train, toting large canvassed packages of paintings, as well as her trunk and cauldron. Her trunk weighed a ton and Ginny struggled with it and wrestled with the many canvasses and her heavy cauldron. She remembered that she had difficulty finding her family, because they sat down in a muggle café and had lost track of the time. She remembered feeling helpless in the Station as she watched people go by, but none of them with red hair and cinnamon freckles._

She remembered a hurried man in a gray suit and light blonde hair - almost white - pushing from behind her and turning, seeing her family as they ran to greet her. She remembered Fred's and George's eyes growing large as the looked at all that she carried, and them complaining loudly as they carted her trunk. She remembers laughing at them and bumping into a teenage boy, her stuff falling on the floor.

The boy looked to be a muggle skateboarder, with baggy black jeans that had a chain on the side of them, and a black shirt with a muggle band on it, one she had never heard of. He was handsome, in an odd way, with midnight black hair which he kept under a baseball cap, turned backwards, and light-colored eyes. He smiled as he watched her stuff fall, and then bent down and picked it all up for her. He smiled at her, his gray eyes lighting up.

They drove home in Ministry cars because Ginny had not yet learned how to apparate. She remembered the big dinner with Harry and Hermoine they had enjoyed that night, celebrating the last to graduate.

…Gray eyes, that boy that had bumped into her had gray eyes… Ginny looked up, across her bed, to where her paintings hung. 'Draco has gray eyes,' she thought, a picture of him sprouting up in her head. 'Had gray eyes, I suppose,' she said, as tears welled up in her own brown ones. 'Maybe that was him,' she pondered. She shook her head. "No, he had black hair."

"Who had black hair, Gin? Harry?" Ron asked, standing by her dresser, admiring a particular angel with interest. Ginny shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. In the background, she could hear water running, and supposed that Harry was taking a shower. He had apparently apparated into her room, without her permission.

"No Ron," she said, trying to not worry about her voice cracking, "That boy that bumped into me at the station. The one with the large pants and the baseball cap?"

"Oh him! Yeah, I think he had black hair, I couldn't really see under the cap. A real punk, don't you think?" he asked. Ginny smiled a little at remembering his eyes. He had deep, beautiful eyes.

"Actually," she said, smiling sadly, her eyes gazing over to her guardian angel painting, "I thought he was a bit on the cute side."

Ron gawked. "Yeah right!" he declared. "That boy is about as good looking as… Draco Malfoy is! Or… er… was," he ended awkwardly. He glanced at his sister, surprised to see her biting her lip, hard. She looked like she was about to cry. "Uh… so… Ginny! Who's that painting of, by the way, you never told me!" he said with feigned enthusiasm, even though the question had been tormenting him for the last two weeks since she had been home.

"Oh," she said faintly, looking up, "That's my guardian angel," she told him, and then looked out the window.

"Guardian angel? Ginny, is there something that you're not telling us? You're not going to convert Christianity, are you?" he asked.

Ginny forgot to laugh.

"Ron, you can believe in angels without becoming a Christian, can't you?" she asked, not thinking about converting, but instead about how much that picture resembled Draco. Perhaps she should name him Draco as a small memorial. Beside, Ron would turn such a lovely shade of red…

Ron shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "I wouldn't know," he said. "Why don't you ask Hermoine? You can always refer to Hermoine if you can't answer a question. Besides, you can't find this answer in a book!" Ron shrugged again. "Well… at least it's an angel and not Malfoy."

"What are you doing in my room anyway, Ron?" Ginny asked suddenly. She had just realized this was her room, not his. He looked at her and thought. "I wanted to check up on you. You seemed a little… disturbed… when you found out that Malfoy had died. Gone missing, I mean, when he had gone missing."

"Oh, I did? Sorry, and thanks for caring. Anyways… what's wrong with Malfoy? Or… what was wrong with Malfoy?" Ron gaped at his sister's sudden memory loss. But before he could answer, there was a knock on Ginny's door. "Come in," they both said at the same time. Ginny glared at Ron; he wasn't supposed to let other people in, it was her room, after all.

Harry Potter, wet hair plastered to his head and a red towel with a fraying gold boarder wrapped around his waist. Ginny was unfazed; she even forgot to blush. After six brothers, seeing the boy-who-lived sopping wet in a towel was no different.

"Hullo Harry," she said vaguely, looking at a propped painting on the floor. It was a portrait of Draco that she had painted last year that hid behind Percy's old dresser drawers. He was in his green and silver Slytherin robes, with his hair back and he was staring off somewhere. Ginny had only managed to get a quick sketch before he turned directions, but it was all she needed. He didn't look soft, or vulnerable, not like that winter night. He looked superior to everyone else, and arrogant, but his eyes; his eyes held a distant sadness. She had seen it all year long, even when he no longer attended school.

Harry was saying something, but Ginny wasn't hearing anything. He walked by the painting, not noticing it. He was talking to Ron, and they were talking about how much her guardian angel looked like Draco Malfoy, their hated and loathed enemy. Ron was pointing at it, and Harry, who was trailing water through her room, was shaking his head, trying to convince him that it was someone who just happened to look like Draco. Little drops of water splattered in different directions.

Ginny curled a pillow in her arms and hugged it tightly. She sighed softly into it, so that Harry and Ron wouldn't hear it. They wouldn't understand what was wrong. They wouldn't understand why she was in love with Draco, they wouldn't understand all she had been through last year and the torture she had gone through this year knowing he wasn't there. They wouldn't understand how empty she was feeling, how helpless she was.

They couldn't comfort what they didn't comprehend.

With Harry and Ron still arguing whether her angel was Draco or not, she left. She apparated down to her gnome-free backyard. It was around one in the afternoon, and the sun was bright. The sky was bright blue and there was a light breeze in the air. She sat under the tall oak tree that led to the entrance of the small forest behind their house. Tears flowed out of her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. Silent sobs racked her body as she drew her knees up to her and hugged them. A feeling of loneliness dawned on her; Draco was gone. Missing or dead, it didn't matter, he was gone. She was on her own right now.

A small gust of warm air blew past her, blowing her hair out in front of her. She looked up from her knees, her eyes, bloodshot. It wiped the tears from her eyes and surrounded Ginny, a ghost Draco hugging her close. "I'm always with you," it whispered in her ear, "You just won't always see me." And then it left her.

Ginny didn't feel so alone.

~~~~~~

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Author's Note: Hey everyone. I hope that everyone is having a happy Christmas Eve's Eve, and then a merry Christmas Eve, and then a merry Christmas, or whatever holiday you celebrate. I'm happy that I've gotten all my shopping done, and am procrastinating on my dad's gift, since he says that I don't haveta give it to him on Christmas, and the muse is running dry. *sighs* I _still _haven't seen LotR: tTT yet, sadly, I'm planning to go with a couple of my friends after Christmas.

Has anyone read 'The Gospel According to Larry'? If you haven't, you should; if you have, I love you for forever. That is easily my favorite book, and you know what's weird? I've always thought that the story was fiction, cuz that's the section that I found it under, ut Emily told me that there's a website out there, and it sounds like he's real! So freaky! So I went there and printed out sermon #3, but I want the first 2! So you should all go to the site, www.thegospelaccordingtolarry.com** or something like that. Yeah, that sounds right.**

And before I forget: I'm looking for a host for some of my fanart. I have, IMO and from what I've seen, very good art, and I'd like someone to host it since I couldn't make a website if my life depended on it. So e~mail me @ Demetria1234@cs.com** if you wanna host some, I'd be eternally grateful. (And it's mostly HP art, BTW)**

And now, for the moment you all have been waiting for: Shoutouts!!!

Darcel: Yup, reviews definitely slowin down. But not cuz no one's check 'em, it's cuz every other D/G author chooses to update when I do! I swear, 1 ½ days after I put it up, it's already on the 2nd page! I remember when it took almost 2 weeks for stories to be updated. *sighs* I suppose I'll just haveta convert to PP/DM or HG/DM, hopefully they update slower.

Lee Velviet: Zeus, I made you cry? I'm sorry… I hope you weren't @ work or somewhere would people would see you. Injustice? I think not! *huffs and mutters something about 'alls fair in love and war'* Soul wrenching. I'll haveta remember _that_ adjective. Anyway, I honestly didn't mean to make it all that angsty, more mushy than angsty, but whatever.

VirtualFairie: I agree, there's not much of an age difference. My b~day's on March 31, BTW.

Them Girl: Actually, I'm not sure why everyone (well, you and Lee up there) were crying. I actually didn't mean for it to be _heart wrenching_, angsty a little, but more romance than not. Of course I'm going to write more! Happy endings here people, butterflies and unicorns and rainbows!

Chocolate Muse: I know, I absolutely hate fate.

Random Artemis: Thanks so much for the complements. Take it you're 18 then? Happy ending? Psh. Happy endings are over-rated, doncha know? I've written a couple of angst, and I didn't mean to make this so angsty, so my apology. And I can't believe that Draco's so OoC, and I'm totally surprised that I've only been flamed once, wow. Ok, not so wordy… got it, and Ron tantrums? Why's everyone so obsessed with them? Ok, whatever. Yes, Draco uses perfect grammar whenever and wherever. He is, after all, Draco Malfoy.

To Anyone that is puzzled about how I'll possibly end this story: I admit, I'm very much confused myself. In the beginning, when I first started writing it, I had an idea where it would end: @ the first chapter. This whole story was supposed to be a 1-shotter. Then reviewers kept tellin me in reviews to 'Update!' or 'This isn't the end, is it!?'. So I kept writing it with little vague ideas of where it was headed, but things changed as I was writing it. Draco was supposed to kiss Ginny's lips in the 5th chapter, not her head, but that brought it on to more stuff… basically, what I'm sayin is that I have absolutely no clue where this story is going and what's gonna happen. I have some ideas and the chapters are already written out, but after them, I have no idea. So if you're confused how they're gonna get together, if they are gonna get together, you're not alone (=-)

And hey, if you're a new reviewer, and you'd like to know when I update, leave an e~mail address that works in your review and I'll e~mail you when I do update! Remember, reviewing is good for your health and you'll be entered into a drawing to win a lifetime supply of government cheese! SO REVIEW!!!

Kiah

Remember: Always read and review the stories that you bother to click on, honesty is the best policy (but, apparently, by process of elimination, dishonesty is the second best policy) never accept candy from strangers, even if it's the good kind of candy, and never, ever eat yellow snow. However, baby blue snow with pink, heart shaped sprinkles is perfectly acceptable.

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BTW, I was just kidding about the cheese drawing.


	7. Perceptions of You

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Disclaimer: I own Pansy's lipgloss and wedding dress and Draco's invisibility cloak and Ginny's piece of parchment.

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to my friend Allie. She got mad @ me when I told Em and Ag that I had dedicated a chappy to them, so naturally, she wanted one too. So this one is hers. Allie comes from a public school where they make 'em stupid. Literally, she transferred from Logan Middle (her old school) to St. Matthew (my school) cuz it wasn't challenging enough and also cuz the kids were making bad decisions (dirty, dirty decisions) and teachers DIDN'T CARE. She told me that they had no interest about their student's performance, seeing how Logan has about 3 times 7th and 8th gr. Than our entire school. Sad really.

Author's Note: Haha, more D/G angst. Maybe I should change the genre… Oh, BTW, there's a little HP/BZ in here, though it's only 1-sided. Poor Blaise has a crush…

Summary: Unknown to Ginny, someone sits in her seemingly empty compartment, watching her and dreaming and thinking. Dreaming a future where a Dark Mark is tattooed on his arm and his fiancée snogging with the former Quidditch captain. And thinking about escape from the Mark, from the future. And maybe, just maybe, there's a way that a better future can happen, if he finds the right people.

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And when I touch your hand  
It's then I understand_  
The beauty that's within  
_It's now that we begin  
_You always light my way  
_I hope there never comes a day_  
No matter where I go  
_I always feel you so

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Michelle Branch, 'Everywhere'

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Perceptions of You

The rain thundered on top of the train car and the lights in the corridor flickered on and off. But the Slytherin standing on the side of the hall gave no interest, nor did he gripe about the noise and unreliability. He was numb and cold. No longer did Draco feel like living, he felt empty and soulless. The train tracks were no longer irritating, they became rhythmic and soothing.

"Draco!" A voice cried from behind him. He turned slowly, not to find Ginny, but Pansy Parkinson, and behind her, Blaise Zabini. Pansy's brown hair was a high ponytail, with small curly tendrils around her oval-shaped face. Her pale skin was dotted with dark freckles from cheek to cheek and her light from her soft pink lipgloss shone smooth in the gold light. Her doe brown eyes shone under lids of light blue eyeshadow. She was a curvy and short, certainly pretty on anybody's standards. She was still wearing her uniform, which somehow dry even though the rain was pouring down in sheets.

Blaise's hair was down in a river of pure black that trailed well past her shoulders, and it glowed purple in the light. She had a dragon ornament on one side of her head, holding back her hair. She was leaning on the corridor wall, one leg casually tossed over the other, her arms folded. She nodded in his direction. She was still a little damp, with small pieces of hair framing her face.

"Hullo Pansy, Blaise," he said dully. He looked down at his future fiancée and their eyes met. Pansy's eyes held insignificance and vainness, there was no depth like the brown pools of Ginny's eyes. Draco looked away quickly.

Pansy's interest in men strayed from Roger Davis, a former Ravenclaw captain, to Marcus Flint, the former Slytherin Quidditch captain, and then to him. She didn't believe in something as eternal or as powerful as love, she laughed when he had asked her one night while they were studying for finals. She admitted that she was only marrying him because he was rich, as she was, and that her parents had ordered her to. Men her age and younger, she mentioned airily, bored her. Draco, at the time, hadn't cared that she didn't believe in love; at that time, he didn't either. But he had changed dramatically, quickly, and love had touched his heart, broke it, then left him. But he believed in it.

Pansy couldn't love what she didn't believe in.

Blaise studied Draco carefully. She hadn't talked to him since wintertime, and he had become more reserved than ever, absorbing himself in studying, or in Quidditch. She knew something had happened, that night she had talked to him, but she didn't know what. Draco seemed tired, worn out. He didn't say much to anyone, and when he did, it seemed so fake. He would laugh without humor, joke without comedy, speak without meaning, listen without hearing. She resolved to ask him what was wrong.

"I can't wait 'til we get married," Pansy said without enthusiasm, twirling with a strand of hair from her ponytail. "Mum showed me the dress and it's absolutely _gorgeous_," she gushed, warming up with excitement. "It's a light pink, since pink compliments my skin tone, and it's strapless with layers of translucent… stuff over it. Oh Draco, it's absolutely beautiful." He nodded, half listening. He knew why she was so excited; Marcus Flint would be there, he had overheard in a conversation with one of her friends - she was wearing the dress for him.

Pansy went on describing everything from her hair to her veil to her necklace to her makeup to her shoes. Draco almost expected her to describe the bra and panties she would wear, if she was planning to wear any. Pansy rambled, thoughts of Marcus' 'appreciation' of dress, the torn pink strips of it on the floor in front of the honeymoon bed.

"Oh, look at the time!" Pansy exclaimed, looking down at her metal wrist watch. Draco nodded again and leaned down to kiss her on her lips. She didn't kiss back but waited impatiently for it to be over. He held her hand and squeezed it a little and she jerked back without squeezing. "Bye Draco!" she said bouncily, walking away. She swayed her hips from side to side with effort the way that Ginny's hips swayed naturally, he noticed.

"Malfoy, is everything ok?" Blaise asked, walking behind him.

"Yes," he said, his heart pounding faster. She looked at him with sharp violet eyes, hair swaying over her shoulders. "No," he admitted.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he replied. Blaise was silent as voices filled the carpeted hallway. They looked down from the side of the wall to where they had came from.

Harry, Ron, and Hermoine appeared down the hall, Ron's and Hermoine's hands happily folded together in a tight squeeze. They were still wet from the rain and didn't care. They were laughing as they walked past, ignoring the silent Slytherins, though Harry's head turned to glare at the Slytherins. Draco glared back at his arch-enemy, and Blaise stared back, then looked away. They walked to the next car and disappeared. Draco was puzzled over Blaise's lack of defiance to glare at the Boy-Who-Lived.

"You like him," he said vaguely, looking at the torchlight in front of him. Blaise's back stiffened slightly and her pale cheeks became red.

"Don't tell anyone," she warned shakily, looking up at him. "Please," she begged quietly.

Draco felt odd that something so odd and unheard of, yet so close to situation was happening again, to the person that he would least expect it to.

"I only wanted to talk to you that night 'cause I understood what you were going through. I can't help it, Malfoy. I hate myself for liking him and yet I love it and I can't stop it from happening. I thought that I could help you out a little, but I see that it's only killing you too."

Draco waved her off, muttering something under his breath. Blaise looked at her watch. "I need to change," she said awkwardly. "See you 'round, then?" He nodded and she walked down the corridor.

For a while, Draco wandered around aimlessly, trying to think up something to do. He couldn't and finally gave up. He opened an empty compartment and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Taking his wand out of his bag, he waved it halfheartedly, magically drying himself off. He slicked his hair back with his hands and opened his bag to put his wand away when his hand brushed up against a piece of cloth. His invisibility cloak lay at the bottom of his monstrous bag his mother had given him. He sat the bag down and pulled it out, careful not to rip the material on the seams on the edges of his bag. The material was smooth and watery, like he was swimming in a still lake. It was also very thin, and he was chilled when it touched his skin.

Draco yawned and rubbed his eyes. He had been getting very little sleep for the last few months of school while he prepared for graduation, and the weather was depressing him. Sleep was just what he needed. Pushing his bag over to one side of the long padded seat, the side closest to the window, he lay down and used the cloak as a blanket. A very, very thin blanket. His bag would serve as a rather lumpy pillow.

He lay down, yawning and closing his eyes. He fell asleep soundlessly to the rhythmic sounds of the train tracks.

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He was walking down an aisle in a lovely white church with a woman in pink dress by his side. She was clutching his arm loosely and a pink veil hid her face. All around him, people in black robes smiled at them and muttered things to their neighbors, things that he couldn't hear. Together, they walked up to the front of the church. He couldn't keep his mind focused on what was going on. All he could think about was the pain in his arm; the throbbing and soreness it was ailing him with. Nobody would notice if he checked it out. Slowly, he dropped her hand, but he could tell that she didn't care. He rolled the sleeve of his black robe up while the minister drowned on and on about something he couldn't hear. He gave a sharp intake when he realized what it was.

A dark green skull was embedded on his arm, a serpent coming out of its mouth. Its eyeless sockets looked up at him eerily as a million needles pierced him and his arm. He cried out and gripped it, bent over in pain. Tears of agony welled in his eyes as a man with hair as dark as his robe who had been sitting in the congregation jumped up. He leapt over the bent figure and began kissing the woman passionately, forgetting about him. A white duck wandered out in front of him and the people disappeared. The duck looked at him and said 'AFLAC.' And a scream was heard, a high pitched, delicate screaming. A woman in a darned black robe and a dark green dress with red straight hair that fell around her shoulders with a hand over her mouth in a petrified scream. She had seen his Dark Mark.

The woman with the red hair ran out of the church, not even looking back at him. The doors slammed with a loud crash as the dream world threatened to close on him. The pain tore into his heart and his head was felt as if it was going to explode. The woman at the alter, whose legs were now wrapped around the man with the black hair's waist, turned to look at him, wearing nothing but a lingerie set, the man licking her throat and collar bone savagely.

"I didn't believe in love and you lost me," she said smugly as the man's hands fumbled to unhook the bra strap. "She believe in love and you lost her."

The door to the corridor opened and Draco groggily opened his eyes as he tried to process his dream. It slammed shut and his eyes jolted. He shifted the cloak to let more light in and tried to make out the person. Wet red hair and a pale freckled face. It was none other than Ginny Weasley that he was sharing his compartment with.

For a moment, he feared that she'd sit on him, but she placed her older brother's bag down on the other side and sat next to it, sighing loudly and rubbing her eyes. Her hair was still wet and her clothes dripped water on the covered seat, but she took no notice. She just sat down, chin resting on the heel of her hand, and stared out of the window.

Draco turned from looking at her and stared at the ceiling through the flimsy cloth, pondering over the meaning of dream. Obviously, the woman with the red hair was none other than Ginny, and the woman in the pink dress was Pansy. The man with the black hair who was snogging her would've been Flint, and he was the one with the Dark Mark in his arm. The Dark Mark. The thought of it ran through his mind over and over again as he struggled to make sense of it.

Lucius had made it clear to his son that he would receive his mark after his graduation. Draco had silently dreaded this day while the others students in his house anticipated it eagerly. He knew that it would hurt and he knew he would scream and whimper in pain and clutch his sore and scarred arm. He also knew that the Death Eaters would take it as a weakness and he would be scoffed and abused by the Death Eaters. His mother had told him that it didn't hurt as much as it would if he was sober and suggested a 'beer celebration' before the ceremony. Draco declined, repulsed at the suggestion and more afraid of the initiation than ever.

He thought of Ginny. What if she saw his Mark, glowing green on his arm? She might think that he had been playing with her emotions, and believe him to be a traitor.

That is, if they ever saw each other again.

A rough scraping sound broke his introspection. Ginny was scribbling something down on the parchment, biting her lower lip in concentration. She glanced out the window and back to her parchment. Every once and a while, she would glance up in his direction, looking almost as if she saw him. He would shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, sometimes forgetting that he was invisible.

Draco longed to see what she was scribbling down and finally stole a peek when she left the compartment to use the loo. He hid his bag under the seat and wrapped the thin cloak around him. He walked across the niche and skimmed the piece of parchment that she had left on the seat.

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Would you leave me if the sun hid its face in shame?

Would you abandon me if the sky fell down?

Would you catch me if I fell?

Would you hold me in your arms and say it's all ok if I was scared?

Would you dry my tears with your hands and kiss away my fears?

Would you fly with me to the moon and swim with me in the sea?

Would your eyes be strayed by a prettier girl or a smarter woman?

Would you leave me here to cry?

He smirked at her thoughts, but then it vanished. She was right to wonder about him, he figured; he probably _could_ be strayed by a prettier girl or a smarter woman, if he ever saw one that was smarter or prettier than Ginny. And would he leave her to cry? He already had, hadn't he? Draco had already thought that he loved her and the feeling was real, but now he wasn't so sure. The Malfoy clan was infamous for taking love lightly, did the same notion of it run through him? It certainly ran through Pansy and Flint. Would his emotions change when he received his Mark? Was he really that weak?

Draco jumped when the sliding door sounded as it nosily slid open and then shut. Ginny stepped back in and looked straight through him, out the window. She brushed some loose red strands out of her eyes and glanced down at the parchment, blushing furiously. She quickly snatched it up and stuffed it into her open purse, nearly colliding with Draco as he jumped around the room, trying to avoid her.

He sat back down on his seat, making sure that his entire body had been covered with the material. Ideas and thoughts of how to escape the Dark Mark were tossed around in his head, each one more crazed than the last. Hide under the invisibility cloak and follow Ginny home on to escape the Mark. Learn how to apparate, receive the mark, and then vanish. He knew that they would never work, each one had faults so large that were easy to see. People could still be tracked under invisibility cloaks using powerful Dark magic spells, and the Dark Mark could be detected almost anywhere where the signal was strong enough. The only way that the Mark could become non-active, really, was to die, when they no longer cared about your Mark. But Draco didn't really feel like committing a suicide anytime soon, so he left the idea and tried to think of wilder one. But it kept bugging him, the idea of a murder scene running through his mind. The bloody sheets on the messed up bed, a broken wand halves lying discarded on the floor, a trashed room with drawers hanging open and the closet door broken, shredded clothes everywhere, and a crimson stained knife laying in the middle of the mess, complete with a trail of little blood spots for the Ministry to follow. All the scene was missing was a body.

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All that's missing is a body… Course! The answer was so simple. Draco didn't _have _to die, he just had to make everyone else in the wizarding world think he had. He had to make it look like something happened somewhere, a murder maybe – in his bedroom - and that a body was dragged and hidden somewhere else. He could adopt an identity of a dead nobody, change his appearance, and move somewhere where nobody would ask too many questions and start over.

But when would he have his 'pseudo-death'? Where? Who should he point at for suspects? More importantly, who would help him and who was against him? Draco's heart began to speed up with adrenaline; finally, he could escape his dreaded karma, if only he could plan it out well enough.

Draco had always wondered what he would look like with black hair.

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Hey everyone. It's me again, Kiah… I just tallied up how many chapters I have, and I have 8 so far! Lesse, it's up to 7 so far… so 1 more before the end or whatever… if I can't think of anything *else* to write.

I thought up an original novel that I'm gonna try to get published, so pray for that that God gives me some ideas and if I do get it published, go out and read it!

Ok, that's all the stuff with me right now. SHOUTOUTS!!:

Darcel Lucia: Yeah, her name's Beth. That is probably my favorite book, other than Coffin's got a Dead Guy on the Inside… I was just commenting on how fast the D/G romance page updates… it's always like that after a movie comes out. I cannot image Draco kissin anyone else than Ginny!

Crystal: which is exactly why you shouldn't eat it! I honestly didn't mean to make it *that* sad… I kinda overdid it.

Lee Velviet: Thanks for the comment about Draco dying his ha- Thanks :). I'm glad that someone is getting what I'm tryin to portray here. And hey, adjectives are very useful for effective writing.

Chocolate Muse: I hope that this chapter explained it a little more for you.

Them Girl: I could end it if you wanted. It'd probably give me less zits, since I'm stressin over how the hell am I gonna possibly end this story…

Hey, if you're a new reviewer or whatever, if you could, leave an e~mail address so I can e~mail you when I update. That is, if you wanna see what happens, cuz I know these D/G pages update kinda fast, especially when I update.

Thanks everyone for the awesome reviews! 68 for 6 chapters averages about 11 and 2/3 review for each chapter, that's totally cool! I love all you, especially those who have been reviewin since the start! ~ Kiah

Remember: Always read and review the stories that you bother to click on, honesty is the best policy (but, apparently, by process of elimination, dishonesty is the second best policy) never accept candy from strangers, even if it's the good kind of candy, and never, ever eat yellow snow. However, baby blue snow with pink, heart shaped sprinkles is perfectly acceptable.


	8. One More Reason to Live

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One More Reason to Live

Virginia Isabelle Weasley celebrated her nineteenth birthday in her room, going through Draco's sketchbook. She had every feature of her sixteen year old face memorized; every freckle, every stray strand of hair that Draco had captured on paper was now etched into her mind. She idly flipped through it; never failing to be surprised by his talent each time her eyes settled on a sketch.

She opened her presents in the family living room in front of the rest of her family: Bill and Fleur, Charlie, Percy and Penelope, Fred, George and Katie, and Ron and Hermoine. Their warm smiles failed to reach her heart and the new canvases that they had given her sat by her dresser drawers, gathering dust. She had given the rest of the paint to her younger nieces and nephews and they had covered the walls and furniture with hues of fiery red and water blue.

Ginny had stopped painting. She had lost the motivation, the sheer will to put brush to canvas. She had lost her love of it, her want to paint scenes of beauty. She had lost her will to paint, mourning Draco. For over a year, Ginny led a life without meaning, refusing to pick up a brush. Life meant meaning, meaning had love, and love had only served to break her heart.

The Daily Prophet had declared a week earlier that Draco was dead and that there was no way that he could still be alive. His room at his father's manor lay in shambles: his wand was snapped in half, his clothing shredded to strips, and a bloody knife was found at his windowsill. The blood was almost sure to be his. A body hadn't been located, and the Ministry was resorting to muggle methods to find it, since he could no longer be located using magic. Wizards around the world whispered to one another, each with a theory and a murderer. Lucius Malfoy was reluctant to admit, but a year after the first article of his disappearance, Draco Edward Malfoy was declared dead, and a memorial service would be held for him on July fifth at St. Nicholas' Cemetery. The ceremony will would begin at two-o'-clock in the afternoon and was expected to last until five that night.

~

She looked down at Ron's old silver wristwatch. She knew where St. Nicholas' Cemetery was; Grandfather Weasley was buried there. The sky was overcast, gray clouds blocking the sunlight. The Prophet 'foretold' that it would rain today, and the prediction didn't look to be too far off. She wiped her eye as a tear slid down her cheek and splashed onto her robe.

She walked out of her house, telling her mother that she was just going around for a little walk and Ron that she was off to visit a friend from Hogwarts. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had both noticed a change in their daughter, she was quieter and detached to everything that went on in the Weasley household. She was moving habitually, doing things she only did from routine. She refused to paint, and spent most of her time either locked in her room or outside, under the oak tree, staring out into space.

Ginny waited until it was almost five, then apparated to the cemetery entrance. People were streaming out in fine black or forest green robes. They didn't talk, but they weren't weeping in grief, either. In fact, she seemed to be the only one who was actually mourning. Several of Draco's old classmates were there, Pansy, who looked better than she had in school, was wearing a black skirt and top and a black cloak, she had red-rimmed eyes and was talking to a rather handsome man with jet black hair, Marcus Flint.

Blaise Zabini was standing off on the side, subdued and distanced from the crowd around her. She was wearing a long, stylish black dress and a black cloak with sliver roses embroidered at the bottom that swirled around her black leather boots. Her black hair was in ringlets around her face and trailed around her head like a black halo. Blaise hadn't changed as Pansy and Marcus had, she was still as beautiful as she had been, still as unpopular as she had been, still as indifferent as she had been.

She looked right at Ginny. Ginny fidgeted uncomfortably, running a hand through her red ponytail, before quickly stopping and flipping up her hood. The former Slytherins might not recognize her face, but they would surely recognize her hair.

She walked off to the side, blindly tripping over gravestones that protruded from the ground in dried overgrown grass, looking for anyone that was looking at her. She hurried to the back, where the newest graves were placed. She hid behind a tree for a while, then stood in front of a tall headstone that read _'William J. Morton, noted wizard and father_', pretending to pay Mr. Morton his respects as the last mourners who weren't really mourning streamed out.

She stepped from behind her hiding spot when the last chattering woman walked away and looked for Draco's monument. It was easy to spot, in the last row of the cemetery. A granite statue of a Chinese Fireball dragon marked Draco's little plot of land, its ferocious stony whiskers flared out and eyes glaring at the young woman as she approached the monument. She looked at it and its eyes flashed at her. The monument lay between a dull black oblisdisk angel with blank eyes, whose hand was open as though she would reach out and grab Ginny, and a worn brick in the ground dedicated to Tom Riddle Sr. which was almost covered by dry, overgrown grass.

Ginny laid a bare cold hand on it as she sat on its base near the sharp stone talons. The wind blew off her hood and stung her ears. She felt cold and alone.

"Hullo Draco," she began awkwardly. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine the dragon as though it were Draco himself. "Damnit!" she cursed softly. "I feel so stupid, trying to talk to a dragon like it's you. I suppose that the paper _was _actually telling the truth for once. You're really gone, aren't you? I'll miss you a great deal, you know. I wanted to let you know on the train before you left, but I never really got around to saying the words, but I hope…

"I hope you knew that I love you during the short time I knew that I did." She wiped tears from her eyes and hurriedly changed her monologue to something that wouldn't make her cry as fast.

"I missed you last year. It was rather boring at Hogwarts without you. No one to get mad at and no one to fantasize kissing, and certainly no one to paint, seeing as you were my only subject." She laughed without humor but stopped when she heard a voice from the other side of the statue.

She peered out from behind a stone claw, looking down the aisle to where the voice was coming from. A boy with black hair and baggy black pants was sitting on the ground, talking with enthusiasm to a black grave that stood in front of him. A large stone snake, carved onto it, was slithering up one side.

He wore a black shirt and a metal necklace, and a baseball cap on his head that was backwards. A skateboard, wheels up, lay next to him. He was smiling as if the grave was a real person, his eyes reflecting pure white light. Drawing up her knees to her as close as possible, she stopped speaking, waiting patiently for the other person to leave.

"It was great, Grandfather. I wish you could've seen me; I was doin' ollies on the rails and even flipped my board over once and landed on it correctly. Course, I promptly fell and bruised my side. The guys at the park got load of a laugh off of it. It's still a tad sore, seeing how it has to heal the muggle way. My arm still hurts too, from the Mark. It's been sore for over a year, and I can't go to no muggle physician, seein' how they'll ask what it is. It felt like thousands of needles piercing my skin. Sometimes," he confided to the grave, "I wake up at night in my apartment and can still feel it," he said with a faint English accent. He cleared his throat.

"The Ministry's gone in a frenzy looking for me, grandfather. They've convinced Father to declare me dead, finally; it's been a year. I just missed my memorial service. Ha, those damned fools didn't even give 'the stupid teenager with the skateboard' a second glance; they all think that I'm dead.

"In truth, Grandfather, I died a long time ago. A girl at Hogwarts broke my heart and it's been like that ever since. I could never tell anyone because she was a Gryffindor, a Weasley – even - Grandfather. You're probably the only person I've actually _told_, ever. Her name was Virginia," he trailed off as if in a trance. Ginny stopped breathing. Her name was Virginia, she was a Weasley and was in Gryffindor, and she attended Hogwarts. Why was this _punk_ talking about her? "She was so beautiful, Grandfather. Her hair was like the red rubies that Grandmere used to wear before Father murdered her, and her skin was like white snow with soft brown freckles. Her eyes were like the chocolate that mum used to send me at school. I sketched her everyday in the school library and one time she bumped into me and found my book…" he trailed off sadly.

"I died that day, Grandfather."

Ginny's eyes opened wide. Draco. That boy, that punk with the black hair and earring, that was Draco. The day in the library, the incident in the snowy courtyard, the event on the melted spot of snow, the train ride back in her sixth year, it all came back to her. She bit her thumbnail as her brain began to process the pieces of information.

And to keep from screaming out.

"Course, I never told anyone. A Malfoy _never _shows any weakness, that's what Father – your son – used to tell me. But I couldn't help the feeling I got whenever I thought of her. I watched her when she boarded the train this year. It seemed that she only got more beautiful than last year. Ginny made me want to change, made me want to be good. So that's why I ran away. Blaise, God bless her, helped me dye my hair and is helping me find a job in America. I owe her big time.

"Anyway, I stopped by to see you before I left. I'm moving to America, have my papers and passes all ready, along with a new life in a country where will no one will question a skater punk with an English accent, and a small amount of money, muggle and magical, in a bank account. I'll need to purchase all new things, seeing as I had to leave them behind, especially a new wand. I'll visit you sometimes, I hope, Grandfather. As always, it's been a pleasure talking with you, you've been an excellent listener while I've babbled endlessly," he said, standing up and brushing himself off. He grabbed his skateboard and apparated away with a faint pop.

Ginny released her hold on her thumb and wiped it on her robe. The teeth marks were deep and purple from pressure, the area around it bright red. Her body was numb with shock and her heart beat wildly. Her cheeks were flushed and her ears were boiling. Above her, the gray skies opened a sliver and a silver lining appeared as a small stream of light trailed down.

Ginny got up shakily and looked at the dragon, deliriously happy. "Thank you," she said to the dragon, "Thank you, oh so much!"

Then she apparated away with a faint pop.

She stopped in bustling Diagon Alley, full of witches and wizards, and ducked into a small dingy shop, Art Supplies and More. The shop smelt faintly of musk and oils, and it was dimly lit by a few tastefully picked ceiling lights. It was fairly warm, in a cozy sense, with wood floors and paneling.

It was her first visit in almost a year. She hurried over to the oil paints section and picked up a colorful new set of oil paints and some white veela-hair brushes that were on sale. She smiled heartily at everyone in the store, walking up to the counter of the small shop slowly, weaving her way around displays of clay and canvases that towered above her. She waved at employees that she recognized, and they smiled back.

"Ginny!" exclaimed a voice from behind the counter. A witch wearing denim overalls that were covered in splotches of paint hurriedly rushed through the small counter-high swinging door and hugged Ginny. "I haven't seen you in almost a year! Where have you been? Not shopping down at that new art store down the alley I hope."

Ginny smiled. Melinda Bronswiler was the proprietor of Art Supplies and More and an amateur sculptor herself. Melinda looked old enough to be Ginny's mother, with brown corkscrew curls and welcoming blue eyes. Her smile brightened up the shop and her energy radiated around her. "No," Ginny said with a gentle smile. "I didn't even know there was a new art store."

"You didn't? Well then, forget I mentioned it," Melinda said with a laugh. "Where have you been, Ginny? I've been trying to get hold of you for weeks, but your parents say you're busy," she said in a more concerned voice.

"I've been rethinking art," Ginny replied as they walked to the counter. "I wasn't sure if I really wanted to paint anymore."

Melinda's mouth hung open in an expression of shock. She closed it. "Ginny, you were made to paint."

"I was having a tough time, and it all seemed to be because of a painting I did, so I really started to wonder…" Ginny trailed off, blushing. Melinda began to ring up the items she had purchased.

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," Melinda began.

"My paintings? What about them?"

"Three weeks ago, a man walked into my store. He noticed the painting hanging in the storefront window, the one with the little boy selecting an owl from the pet shop. He asked if there were any more by the painter, and I said yes. By the way," she added, "That will be five Sickles and three Knutts." She bagged Ginny's purchases as Ginny dug around in her pants for money. She handed six dull silver sickles over to Melinda and held her hand out for change. "I showed him the one of the Quidditch match with an apple, and the one with the landscape out of a window sill."

Ginny looked at her and blinked slowly, processing the information. Those were her paintings that Melinda had bought from her. She nodded her head, urging Melinda to continue. Melinda handed over a small bag with her newly purchased paints and brushes.

"The man asked me who the artist was, was she local, was she a witch, you know, all those sorts of things." Ginny nodded. "I said that you were the artist, and of course, I used 'Virginia' since it's much more elegant 'Ginny', that you were local, a witch, and fresh out of Hogwarts."

"Who is he?" Ginny wanted to know. For a fleeting second, she thought that Melinda would say Draco, or describe him. But from the happy expression on Melinda's face, she knew that it wasn't.

"Micah Agustus. He said that he was the owner of several galleries around the world, and wanted to get in touch with you. He also gave me his card, which he asked me to pass along to you. I said I would."

Melinda opened a drawer under the cash register and rummaged around in it. "Ah ha!" she said triumphantly, handing the card over to Ginny. She flung it into her bag and it landed on top of the box of paints.

"Don't you know what this means, Ginny dear?!" Melinda said excitedly. Ginny didn't, and stood still, uncertain. "This Micah Agustus guy wants to have a gallery exposition and feature your art work! He wants you to pursue a career as a professional painter!"

Ginny blinked, and a smile slowly made its way across her pink lips. It spread, and for the first time in a year, reached her eyes. "I'd better go, Melinda," she said. "I have someone to contact."

Melinda smiled, and shooed her away. "I expect a gallery invitation," she said sternly. Ginny laughed and agreed.

She walked away as though she was in a blissful trance and strolling on air. On her way to the door, she stopped to help a girl, about twelve, with a black braid, pick out a sketchbook, a brown one with leather binding and gold edged pages.

~*~*~

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Author's Note: This is not the end of the story. I mean, well… it's the end of _this_ story, but not the end of _the _story. Can you say sequel?

A brief synopsis: Three years after Draco's disappearance, Ginny holds her first art premiere in New York. Wizards, witches, and muggles from all over the world will be appearing at the premiere, including Daemon Marks, an art teacher and resident of Los Angeles. He comes not to claim a painting, but to claim someone he lost three years ago, someone who knew him as Draco Malfoy.

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A tidbit of the new story:

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"You should come, Daemon," Blaise urged him with a slight French accent as she rubbed her hands through his hair.

"Blaise, you know that art premiers aren't my thing anymore," he protested for what must've been the twentieth time as the water ran through his hair. He had all but lost his sophisticated British accent trying to assimilate into the United States and the guys at the skating park.

"I designed the dress that the artist will be wearing tonight. It's simply gorgeous."

"Talented little bugger you are. Glad Potter picked a smart little cookie like you to marry," he had replied dryly. She smiled down at him, her purple eyes shining brightly.

"What about me?" Harry asked, pushing his naturally jet black hair out of his emerald eyes as he stepped into the back door the salon. "Oh, hullo Draco."

"Daemon," he heard himself correctly automatically, looking from his spot in the sink to see if anyone else had heard him.

"Right. Hullo Daemon," he said. "Back again for a hair dye?"

"No, Potter, I'm hear for a bleaching. Of course I'm here for a hair dye!"

"Aww… you're just mad because you're hair isn't naturally black, like moi's," Harry said with an exaggerated French accent. Unlike his wife, he hadn't lost his British accent, preserving it by playing Quidditch for the English World team. "Hey, are you going to the art premiere tonight?" he asked, washing his hands in the sink next to his.

Daemon rolled his eyes. "No," he declared, "For the last time, I am not going to the friggen art premiere tonight in posh, upscale New York."

"Why?" he asked, turning the ceramic dials off and drying them off in plush Egyptian fabric towels.

"One, because I am a lowly art teacher who doesn't belong in a museum as 'renowned' as The New York Museum of Modern Art or wherever that bloody premiere is being held..

Two, because some infamous Death Eaters reside in New York and could well be attending the gallery tonight, and if you two remember correctly, you're helping me hide from them and I have been living incognito for three years.

Three, I'm bum broke because I'm an art teacher and have no clothes, and if I did, I would've probably forgotten how to put them on, it's been so long since I've had to wear them.

Four, not only did I swear off art other than teaching, Weasette stole my book. Not stole, exactly, but she has it and I don't. And reason number five," Daemon paused for a dramatic effect before continuing, ticking his fingers off as he counted them, "I. Don't. Want. To. Go."

"Weren't you madly in love with the little Weasette who 'stole your book'?" Blaise asked. Daemon smirked proudly and Harry glanced up with raised eyebrows.

"I was and still am madly and insanely in love with Virginia Isabelle Weasley. Why do you ask?" Blaise only shrugged with a mysterious look in her eyes.

"Oh, but hun," Harry said, talking to his wife, "Isn't that artist a new one?"

"She sure is. She's a real doll, don't you agree?" Harry nodded. "I knew that Ginny Weasley always had some kinda talent in her, but I never thought that it'd be in painting."

'Stupid idiot,' Daemon thought. 'The girl liked you for six years and you didn't know that she painted? Hold on. How did Ginny get into the conversation?'

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Daemon asked. "Why? Is Ginny going to be at the premiere tonight too? And Blaise? Can you trim a little off the sides?"

"Certainly, Mr. Marks," Blaise said, looking down as she toweled his now jet black hair, "And Ginny? Why, she's the artist."

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Reviewing has PROVEN to be make Cheerios taste better when combined with sugar and eaten in a bowl full of Froot Loops.


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